


Zombies, Angsty Teenagers, and New York City

by activatethetightpants



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: AU, Attempt at Humor, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Novel Length, Slow Build, Tragedy, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies, apparently really sad, im k with that, like holy crap this is long, this might make you hate me a little according to those who have read this in past, you're probably going to deem me evil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-01-21 05:54:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 51
Words: 81,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1540064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/activatethetightpants/pseuds/activatethetightpants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Nico still chitchats with dead people, Percy is still totally oblivious, New York is about the same, and zombies have incredibly resilient skulls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Post-Apocalyptic Stand-Up Comedian and the Zombie Whisperer

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own any of the characters, for starts
> 
> So this is my first attempt at any fic ever in the past few years. Hopefully it's all right. I swear I'll get better at writing the characters as I work with them more! 
> 
> I've noticed a severe lack of Percy Jackson Zombie AUs and decided to just kinda fix that in this sorry attempt at prose! I'm not really used to third-person, present-tense, so I'm not sure why I used it, but oh well. Too late now. 
> 
> I hope it's all right!

It might’ve been six months since the beginning of all this, but waking up to the stench of rotting flesh and general decay never lost its unpleasant verve. 

Percy frowns, planting his elbows on the window frame and gazing down at the streets. Mindless hosts of the plague that has scourged humanity mill about without purpose below him, tripping over their own feet and sprawling out on the sidewalk, completely unaware of anything outside of themselves and their hunger.  
He pushes off the frame as one notices him and starts shuffling toward the hotel with a broken gait, its arms swinging in front of him uninhibitedly, mouth handing open and pouring forth a whole slew of nastiness. 

Percy’s fairly certain the creatures can’t compose themselves to find a way up the flight of stairs, but he’d rather not stick around to find out for sure. He’s got to rendezvous with the group of survivors from the refugee camp. It’s been weeks and anxiety has begun to affect him more than he’s willing to admit. Keeping a happy disposition is hard to do when all your friends could’ve been made into Lunchables for the undead. 

Speaking of those pesky things, they were beginning to wake up. The early morning’s spell was wearing off of them, causing their senses to sharpen ever so slightly. Zombies that aren’t early-morning lethargic are not zombies Percy wants to encounter. 

He pulls his pack back on, the straps biting into his shoulders, bottom heavy with canned goods, and stoops to pick up his pitch fork (he’d decided it was more of a trident than anything else). Everything’s too heavy and it’s too early, but he has no choice but to move. The zombies outside are getting wise to his presence in the old Marriott. He needs to scram before they decide stairs won’t keep them from a tasty ex-swimmer for second breakfast.

In addition to the “trident”, Percy secures a three-foot machete to his side, a .9 mm to his hip, and sleeves of leather to his arms. Never know what you’ll be needing. 

He releases a soft sigh and runs a hand through his black hair, mussing the short, messy locks into even more of a rat’s nest atop his head. Beneath his aquamarine eyes are purpling bruises. He is exhausted. This whole Surviving the Apocalypse thing is draining. 

He picks his way down the stairs, hopping softly over discarded luggage and misplaced toys as he goes. He uses his pitchfork as a walking stick, hefting himself over particularly impending obstacles as he sees fit and wishing he had something more to drink than just an over-warm bottle of well water. He thinks back to the Before, back when whatever he wanted was at the tips of his fingers. He isn’t proud of the things he’d do now for a bottle of blue Gatorade, but hey. That’s life in the After for you. 

At the base of the stairs, there’s a Long Dead doing its very best to clamber up to him. The sight would be sad if it weren’t so stomach-churning. This particular Long Dead was clearly a valet or something at some point, given its velvety maroon uniform and heavily askew fez. The—man?—woman?—ah, steadily-decaying androgynous valet—is more emaciated than most of the Deads stumbling around on the streets and, given the pristine (if a little smelly) condition of its uniform, Percy’s willing to bet this fella hasn’t killed anybody. Which is both good and bad for him. Good, because it wouldn’t be experienced. Bad, because it would be hungry. 

Percy sighs and pushes his hair back on his forehead. “Hey,” he calls to it. 

Unfortunately, the dead aren’t very good conversationalists. It stares up at him with cataract’d eyes and a dumb expression on its face, but cruelly refrains from responding.  
Yellow bile drips from the corners of its lips. 

“You…you got a little something…” Percy gestures to the sides of his mouth a little, standing just about six steps out of the valet’s reach. It touches its lips a little out of reflex, mouth hanging open a little wider, allowing more bile to come oozing out. Its hand is coated in the stuff in a second.

“Yeah, you got it,” he says, sliding the machete out of its sheath. “You’re looking good now, bud. Real good.” 

If zombie valets could be blushing, this one would be. Percy Jackson, after all, had just complemented it. Every creature, living or otherwise, aspires for that. 

Of course, flattery gets you nowhere when the object of it is a reanimated corpse with limited intelligence beyond Eat, Defecate, Walk. But hey, it’s worth a try. 

He comes down the stairs a little more, machete slung over his shoulder lazily, eyes focused on the slobbering valet. They stare each other down for a long moment, the latter swaying slightly. Finally, Percy is within its reach and it lurches forward, hands outstretched, mouth agape, wanting a scrumptious mouthful of the bronzed Adonis of Plague Survivors. Much to its dismay, it did not get that bite. Even more to its dismay, it slumped to the ground, the machete lodged firmly in its skull. Stagnant blood bubbles moseyed onto the faux velvet of its uniform. 

“Sorry about that, bud,” Percy murmurs, wrenching his weapon free from its head. “Didn’t mean to leave a stain.” 

The corpse still rudely abstained from conversation. 

Once his machete is safely tucked away again, Percy glances around the room as Annabeth had taught him. He’d had a few too many close calls with deadheads to not take  
precautions. 

Weeks ago, Annabeth had lowered her gun with a groan of annoyance. Their attacker, a very Fresh Dead, had just collapsed. “Percy, did I tell you to check the hall or did I tell  
you to check the hall?” 

“Uhm.” 

She tucked a curly lock of blonde hair in her Yankees cap and leveled him with a calculated glare. “You’ve got to start taking this stuff seriously, Seaweed Brain. This isn’t some game.” 

And then she’d forced him to scan the house until the action was engraved in his instincts. He grins. He’d do her proud yet. 

Well, provided he got back to camp. That would be the deciding factor here. And it would be a little difficult to get back, given he has little idea where he is. 

Percy grumbles to himself and steps up to the doors, unsheathing his machete again. The canned food is seriously hurting his shoulders by now, and he’s only been up and about for a few minutes yet. Today’s going to be a long one, he decides.

He needs to make it at least half way back to camp, if possible. He’s already been gone way too long. In fact, he was due back two days ago and was somewhat sourly surprised to that no search party had been launched for him. Kinda hurt his feelers, but whatever. 

The streets are mostly clear, which was odd. Not fifteen minutes ago had they been crawling with the diseased husks of people. Percy supposes they’d found some other survivor to pick on and, after just a split second of relief, feels guilty. Somebody else, somebody like him, could be dying right now. And he could stop it. 

He glances in the direction of camp and heaves a little sigh. His inner hero (Rule #17 of Zombieland—Don’t be a hero) was pushing him to come to the rescue. And who was he to deny his inner hero?

After a brief assessment of the bloody bile splattered on the ground, he decides the zombies had started off to his left. He follows the trail, hoping he wouldn’t run into one of his friends fighting for their lives. It would weigh too hard on his conscience if somebody he knew were to die when he was close enough to prevent it. Though the guilt wouldn’t be too bearable if it was a stranger, he could at least convince himself that they were somehow a horrible person or something. Not a great technique, but in this world, one has to adjust morals to survive. He’d had to do it once recently. Her death weighed on him, but…no. He couldn’t focus on that. He had to keep moving. 

It’s not too long before he hears the yelling. It’s not scared or panicked, necessarily, so much as it is desperate and miserable. He can’t make out what’s being said, but he can tell it’s what has drawn all the Deadies here. 

About two dozen of them have congregated in the middle of Central Park, a small figure in the midst of them. The figure is yelling, waving its arms, but the creatures aren’t advancing. 

“Come on!” the figure shouts, voice hoarse and ragged from strain. “Just do it already!” Flailing arms, little hop. “I’m right here! What’re you waiting for?!” 

None of the creatures move. 

Percy hears an exasperated groan as he steps forward. One of the Deadies notice him, its neck cracking as it stares back at him. The crackling of its neck sends echoes throughout the otherwise silent park, drawing a few of the other zombies’ attention. They turn to look at Percy, outnumbering him twenty-four to one, and almost instantly begin lurching toward him. 

Panic sets in. His ADHD acts up, picking up a million things at once and muddling his brain. There’re very few exit routes he can take at this point. There’s a fire raging in the buildings to the left of him, a sharp corner that preventing him from seeing if anywhere else that way is safe. To his right is a steep incline that would slow him down more than anything and probably trap him at the bottom. Back the way he came is the only option, but he can’t risk a glance back to see if that’s still safe. They’re advancing too quickly for that. 

He draws his machete, Riptide, and hacks into the first creature’s head with some effort. It crumples in a split second and is instantly replaced with a lumbering woman who was bloated before all of this even started and has only gotten worse under the cruel hand of the plague. To make it worse, she’s sporting a floral muumuu. Horrifying.  
Percy grimaces and goes to hack into its oozing face, when the figure speaks up. “Leave him alone.” It speaks softly now, commandingly, firmly, but not unkindly. 

The muumuu-clad undead comes to a stop and sways slightly, seemingly torn. Then it simply turns, along with the rest of the horde, and faces the figure. 

“Go home,” it says, pointing firmly behind itself. 

They obey without hesitation. 

Percy’s perplexed. He rushes forward as the zombies mull away, Riptide still in hand, and stands before the figure. 

The figure’s a boy. One of the creatures is curled up by his feet. He’s dressed in a patched-up aviator’s jacket, black skinny jeans that have seen better days and a skull t-shirt that looks like it’s been chewed up and spat back out again. He has dark hair long enough to be pulled back in a stubby ponytail and skin so pale a porcelain doll would be jealous. The bridge of his nose is splashed with freckles. His bangs hide his eyes. 

Percy stops short and stares at him. The boy doesn’t even seem to be armed. He shouldn’t be alive. Well, that’s just a start of what he shouldn’t be able to do. 

Eventually, our tongue-tied hero finds his voice. “A-are…are you a zombie whisperer or something?” 

The boy snorts. His hand rests on the forehead of the zombie before him, his thumb making gentle circles on its temple. It doesn’t move to bite him even as he turns his attention to Percy. “Is that the thanks I get for keeping you from becoming a Happy Meal?” His voice is vaguely accented with something Mediterranean. Italian, Percy decides. 

“I-I, uhm.” Percy fumbles for words. It’s been weeks since he’s actually used his voice for anything but stand-up comedy for an undead audience. “Thank you, I guess. How, uh, did you…?” 

The boy shrugs. “They just listen to me,” he says. His voice drips with a bitter, resentful quality. “Pretty well, at least.”  
Percy knows it’s against the rules, but he can’t help but introduce himself. It’s just been too long since he’s seen another person. “I…my name’s Percy Jackson. Who’re you…?”  
Softly, the boy whispers to the zombie at his feet, “Head home.” It starts dragging itself away instantly. After gracelessly wiping it on his jacket, the boy extends the hand to Percy and says, “Nico di Angelo, apparent zombie whisperer and saver of Percy Jacksons.”


	2. Bonding Over Beans and Peaches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still do not own anything, obligatory rights renouncement, all that jazz. 
> 
> SO THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE POSITIVE FEEDBACK. MIGHT'VE MADE MY DAY A LITTLE. 
> 
> I'm really not sure what's happening in this chapter, due to lack of foresight, but I'll do my best to lengthen them in future (though it might take me a little longer to finish).
> 
> I'm really not sure if they're supposed to be existing in the demigod world still or not, so I'm going to uncomfortably beat around the proverbial bush until I decide. I'm open to whatever you guys would like, though. ^^
> 
> Fun fact, writing this while listening to the Arctic Monkeys gives me life (pun because zombies and the son of Hades and aha)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys bond. Nico eats a lot. Percy is uncomfortable. Comedic descriptions of the undead are plentiful. Emotional moments are received with Percy-like grace.

One thing Percy learned about Nico upfront: The boy can put away food like nobody’s business. He’d already handed over two things of canned goods, and the little guy still didn’t seem full. Of course, he’d explained beforehand that he hadn’t exactly eaten in the recent past, but still. That’s no excuse to be a glutton. 

Percy sits across from him now on the rails of the Bank Rock Bridge, watching in disgusted fascination as he shovels refried beans into his mouth like it were crème brulee. He can’t help but wonder where Nico puts it all. You wouldn’t think such a slight person would be able to eat that much, but alas. 

“Sooo…” Percy says, glancing back behind him a little. There’s a zombie wading in the shallower parts of the river beneath them, looking lost and confused and about as pretty as a pile of horse crap. Percy wonders how many zombies there are waddling around in this river, over their heads or otherwise. The thought, however, gives him the heebie-jeebies, and he quickly brushes it off. 

Nico looks up at him, wiping the beans away from his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket. Seeing him without the distraction of two-dozen zombies does wonders for pinpointing characteristics. Like his dark eyes, the purple bags beneath them that put Percy’s to shame, the catlike grace of his bone structure, so on. Like, for instance, the fact that there was no way he was strong enough to wield any kind of weapon. Even a gun would be to strong. The kick would have him down before the zombies even had a chance. No, the only reason he was alive was because of his ability to sweet-talk the dead into domesticated submission. Which was weird enough as is and did nothing to help soothe the aforementioned heebie-jeebies tangoing up Percy’s spine. 

“’Sooo’ what, Jackson?” Nico demands, his eyes hard. His face is just a touch too childish for Percy to take seriously, but the deadly quality of glare he dons is more than enough to whip the humor momentary out of him. 

“I just,” he stammers, glancing around nervously for Deadies looking for a snack. He knows that Nico would take care of them if they got to close, but instinct wins out over logic, as it commonly does, and he continues to scan as he speaks. “I-I was just wondering why I haven’t seen you.” 

Nico raises a brow and scrapes up some of the beans on his spoon. The metal-on-metal friction releases a rattling sound that makes Percy grit his teeth and the wading zombie’s ears perk. Nico ignores them both and keeps cleaning out the can. 

“It’s just, ah,” Percy says, tapping his fingers anxiously on the railing. The moist zombie beneath them is menacingly shuffling his way toward them. Percy can’t help but steal glimpses at it as it gets closer. 

“Don’t even think about it!” Nico calls over Percy’s shoulder, patting his feet against the supports of the railing. Instantly, the zombie returns to its post in the riverbed. 

Percy’s heebie-jeebies have formed a conga line. 

Nico glances up at him, his face innocent enough, and says, “You were saying?” as he reclaims the jar of peach preserves next to his thigh. 

“Right. I-I just kinda thought that all the survivors were shipped out Arcade and Yorkshire? I-I mean, they’ve got the camps set up and everything, I just figured…you know, that was everybody.” He squirms uncomfortably. Nico is watching the peaches like he’s trying to freeze them. 

“Yeah,” he says, lifting a shoulder with forced apathy. “We went there. But we got turned away.” 

Percy starts to get some vibe that he’s missing something. Either that, or Nico is secretly Sméagol. 

“’We’…?” he asks, peeking around Nico as if to make sure he hadn’t somehow overlooked a party following him. 

Nico nods, but offers no further explanation. He just gazes at his peaches, mouth partially open, like he has something to say. But, eventually, he closes it and just digs around for a peach. 

“So, uh, what’re you doing in the city, then?” Percy asks, rubbing the back of his neck. He can hear two dead-a-lead-a-ding-dongs (he is getting creative with “zombie” synonyms) fighting over something off in the woods. They conversed in deep grunts and he has to wonder if they could actually understand each other or if it just sounded like “grahhhh” to them too. He assumes the latter. 

“I suppose what you were doing,” Nico says, nodding to the peaches, “but with less luck.” He pops one of them into his mouth and slurs around it, “Where’d cho get thesesh, anyway?” 

Percy shrugs. “Trucks, mostly. I guess a lot of supplies got interrupted on their way in.” 

Nico nods. “I guess hordes of the undead are reasonable causes for traffic disruption.” He wipes at some of the peach juice on his chin. 

“Seems like a shotty excuse to me,” Percy says, his dirty-in-a-mildly-sexy-way hair falling over his forehead as the breeze shifts. “Especially since they’re supposed to deliver no matter what. Through rain, sleet, snow and swarms of maggot-infested freaks.” 

“I think you’re thinking of the mail, not fruit delivery, but I agree,” Nico says. 

Percy grins. Though he’s a little (a lot-tle, more like) creepy, he can’t help but like the dry sense of humor Nico brings to the table. Maybe he genuinely likes it, maybe it’s just better than the seclusion he’s adjusted to. Who can say? 

“So, uh, refugee camp.” 

“Refugee camp.” 

“Would you want to see if they’d take you now? You know, uh, maybe change their minds about you or something?” 

Nico darkens considerably. He can almost feel deathly cold radiating from his mood. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” 

“What? Come on, it’s gotta be better than this,” Percy says, gesturing around decrepit Central Park, foreground crawling with mangy animals and disease-ridden people, background full of fire and smoke and the chilly stillness of a city without people. 

Nico shrugs. Laughs without humor, stirs the peaches with his spoon. “Yeah. Yeah, maybe so, sure.” He pops the last peach in his mouth and chews on it for a moment before responding. “But I doubt it.” 

Percy groans. “It’s at least worth a shot. Come on, please?” 

Nico looks up at him, his hair out of his face a moment, and Percy is hit with a vague sort of recognition he can’t place. It touches on both familiar, recent ground as well as long-ago nostalgia. Nico’s looking down again before he can decide what any of it might mean. 

“I…I’ll accompany you as far as the city limits. Just, you know, to keep the biters at bay.” His voice drips sadness and maybe just a touch of hope. Percy wiggles even more. He’s pretty sure the heebie-jeebies have invited the awkward-situation-spasms to their raging house party.

He stands up before his squirming becomes too obvious. “Let’s get going, then, yeah?” 

Nico nods, standing up and shoving his hands into his pockets. He indelicately shoves the empty containers into the river. 

“So…do you know which way Arcade is?” 

Nico groans loud enough to wake the dead (a necessary pun).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is dialogue and why did I attempt it
> 
> I'll update ASAP, if you all would like c: 
> 
> Thanks for reading thus far!


	3. The Backseat of a Taxi Cab (but in a About to Die Way)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Walgreens is a disaster. Zombies are described in more detail. Nico and Percy get close in a taxi. I've lost control of this story and I'm only on Chapter 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo. This happened. I had a storyboard worked out, but guess who strayed from it? Oh well. 
> 
> If you can't tell, I'm horrified of zombies. Like, seriously, terrified of them. So I decided to actually have some of them embody that terror in a very not-actually-scary way. 
> 
> :D
> 
> I think I'm going to start including links to sassy songs that work with the chapters up here because I feel like raising the stakes. I dunno, let me know, I guess.

It would be nice if they could get their hands on a map, but amongst many of the other things in shortage during Apocalypse Times (fresh fruit, medicine, condoms, the latest issue of Vogue—necessities), they can and will be found. Percy and Nico confirm this after an hour or so of searching. 

As it turns out, most people had the foresight to pick a map up before running for their lives. 

Percy’s kicking himself over not being one of those people as Nico takes a seat on the Walgreens checkout counter, twiddling his thumbs. Against the once-automatic doors press a couple of zombies, their pus-drenched faces and unfashionable hairstyles only adding to the terror of their disease. 

Percy frowns at them and kicks the Plexiglas, making them flinch back out of human reflex. 

“Play nice,” his new companion calls, leafing through a newspaper. “I don’t want to have to break you three up.” 

Percy rolls his eyes. He doesn’t want to get short with this boy, especially since he barely knows him, but irritation at the whole day’s events are wearing at his patience. He runs a hand through his hair and paces the aisle. “I mean, there can’t not be a map in here, right? That’s got to be illegal or something.” 

“A felony, no doubt.” 

Percy grumbles. “If I could just figure out how to get back to the truck, this wouldn’t be any trouble.” 

“Do you remember where you left it?” 

Percy gives a blank look and raises his brow. 

“Oh. Oh, yeah, right. Uhm, well…” Nico watches his hands, brushing his thumb over his knuckles contemplatively. “Do you remember anything being around it when you left it? Like, uh, any landmarks?” 

Another look. 

Nico glares a little, his bottom lip sticking out a little in a faux-pout. “All right, fine. Have you contemplated maybe, ah, I dunno, hijacking another car?” 

“I don’t know how.” 

Nico tucks his feet under himself. “Well, it looks like we’re walking.” 

Percy picks his pack back up and shoves some Twinkies from the shelves into it. They might be crushed by the time he got back, but at least it’ll be something to make up for the food he gave to Nico. “Unless you can fly too, yeah, looks like it.” 

“Sorry, but my spectacular powers are limited to talking with dead people.” 

“Bummer.” 

Nico grumbles, “You have no idea…” as he moves to follow Percy out. 

Though he knows Nico could just politely ask them to clear the way, Percy decides to let some pent-up anger out on the zombies lurking by the doors. He’s agitated, after all. He’s lost in a city he never thought he could get lost in (that was, of course, before buildings started crumbling, fires started destroying, and chaos in general started occurring), he misses his mom and his step-dad, Paul. He wants to see his friends again, wants to be sure they’re all in one piece. He especially wants to see Annabeth again, see that little spark of affection in her eyes when she calls him “Seaweed Brain”, see the way her blonde curls frizz up in the mornings. He’d even settle for seeing her angry right now if it just meant she’d be nearby enough for him to hold her hand or kiss her cheek or smell the distinctly Annabeth aroma of vanilla and honey. Anything, as long as she was with him. 

So, of course, he took that frustration out on the zombies. As soon as the doors are pried open, he asks Nico to stop telling the creatures to stay back. 

“Wh-what?” he asks. “Why?” 

Percy doesn’t respond. He just steps forward as the hosts come shambling closer, bloodied faces marred with pocks and gashes, white eyes crusty, teeth yellowed, and takes firm hold of his “trident”. They rush at the same time. He chooses the one in front and unceremoniously buries two of the trident’s prongs under its jaw. It slumps instantly and he steps forward, lowering it to the ground and unsheathing Riptide. 

Nico yelps behind him. He glances back to see him frantically trying to form words as the second scruffy being looms over him. Hissed breaths pour out over its lips. Its upper body propels itself toward Nico preemptively, lower body following just a little later. 

As quickly as he can, Percy thwacks Riptide into the side of its neck. Riptide sinks partially in, but doesn’t finish the job and definitely doesn’t fall out as easily as The Walking Dead makes it look like it will. 

The zombie wheels on him, all of its decaying muscles lurching into place properly for it to launch itself forward. Before it can get too far, Percy grabs his .9 mm and shouts out his adrenaline, aiming and taking a massive chunk out of the creature’s head with just a squeeze of the trigger. 

Black blood that reeks of overrun sewers splatters on his face. 

Perfect silence fills the Walgreens for a long moment. Well, it might be perfect silence. Neither of them can tell. Their ears are ringing horribly from the gunshot. 

But hearing or no, one thing is clear. Other zombies would’ve definitely heard that. They needed to get out of there before a swarm so big came that not even Nico could control it. You didn’t need working ears to figure that out. 

Scrambling to their feet, Nico and Percy dart into the streets, Percy struggling to juggle Nico’s wrist, Riptide, the Trident, and his Glock all at once. Nico says something to a Wall Street zombie (one dressed in a three-piece suit with a death grip on a suitcase) Percy can’t make out over the shrill in his ears as they go. After a few blocks, it becomes clear that they’d woken up most of the city. 

Percy’s ears aren’t throbbing so badly now, which would be great if not for the fact that now all he can hear are raspy breaths and blood-curdling groans. It seems like most of Manhattan heard the dinner bell. 

Nico sums everything up rather well. “We’re in rather bad sorts.” 

“Agreed. Wanna try talking them up so we don’t, like, die?” Percy deadpans, his eyes stuck on the quickly advancing horde. It’s lead by Central Park’s purple muumuu lady. 

Nico swallows uncertainly and tucks his hands into his jacket pocket. “I can sure try.” 

And he did. But somewhere, his voice got lost. The front row heard him fine, but the pleas fell on deaf ears for the rest.

So they hid. An entire pack of ravenous, blood-thirsty, undead people were cascading toward them, and they hid in the backseat of a decrepit taxi cab. 

Percy shoves Nico in ungracefully and scrambles after him, hurrying to close the cab door behind him. He presses down the ‘lock’ button for good measure, and lays flat over Nico, his weapons on the ground beside them. 

Nico looks like he’s about to have an aneurism. He’s staring up at Percy, his face red and beaded with sweat, hands tucked between their chest, soft, thin lips pressed together so hard they’ve whitened. 

But Percy’s arms are getting tired working on the whole “not crushing the Italian” thing, so he barely notices the blush on his cheeks or the panic in his eyes. The very, very, VERY un-zombie-related panic in his eyes. 

They hit all at once. The creatures surround the cab in a hurricane-like formation of constantly rotating flesh, hands and faces and chests smashing against the glass for a split second before another, equally-ugly one replaces it. Percy loses his grip on the seat and grunts. Nico grunts too because, well, there’s roughly 185 pounds of Percy weighing down on his ribcage. 

The cab shakes from the outside. The groaning of the infected becomes like white noise. Nothing exists but this cab, this moment, and the dozens and dozens of zombies clawing their way in. 

Percy, overwhelmed with sudden fear and uncharacteristic helplessness, buries his face in the folds of Nico’s lapel and tries to imagine it all away. 

He’s with Annabeth. They’re joking around with Leo in the barracks, or he’s locked in some dumb competition with Jason that Annabeth’s trying to break up. Maybe he’s eating around the campfire with his mom and stepdad. Something blue. Something blue around the campfire. 

The cab tilts. Glass breaks. Hands suffocate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D  
> more later okay good bye


	4. Nico's Sweaty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nico is sweaty. Sweaty Nico.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy people!
> 
> So first of all: On the topic of the characters remaining demigods. I don't think I'm going to end up doing that, though I really want to. It'd just be too difficult to naturally include what happened to Camp Half-Blood and all that (plus other REASONS), but if I can think up a way to, I'll slip the whole "demigod" thing in there ASAP. Sorry, I'm just ndkdf. But I dunno, all this might change. 
> 
> Annnnd I think that's all I've got to say. Lemme know if there's anything in particular you want to happen and I'll see if I can include it (I have no idea where this is really going for the most part, so suggestions are welcome)!

            Percy’s aware of two things at once.  The first is the hand on his ankle.  The second is Nico clinging to the back of his shirt, yelling frantically in a mixture of languages he can’t follow.  He’s too dazed to do much than thrash blindly.  The cab’s suddenly gotten a great deal darker.  The light in the windows has been replaced by ravenous faces slack with disease and disrepair.  Whatever has his ankle has added a hand to it.  It’s strong.

            Nico screams something again, so loud in his ear that he can’t even make it out.  But the creature holding his foot understands.  It releases him, but their situation doesn’t get much better.

            Percy thinks vaguely how it’s amazing that, when you remove the action-packed music movies add to events like this, how quiet it really is.  There’s nothing but whatever sounds you and the dead are making.  Pants, groans, hisses, breaths.  Your own yelling and grunting and other noises of struggle.  But, apart from that, it’s quiet.  So, so, so quiet.

            Nico’s shoving him up and scrambling out from under him.  He thrusts the machete in his hands and says something in an urgent voice.

            Percy blinks. “What?”

            “I said start chopping, dammit,” he says, turning toward the windows and shouting more demands at the undead. “Get away from here!  I don’t want you here anymore!  Leave us alone!” Only about a half-dozen listen.

            Percy jolts into action.  He hacks away at the first head to pop through the window, growling in exertion, and feels himself panting already.  His muscles are tired.  His mind’s a complete, unhelpful whirl.  Nico’s voice is already hoarse as well.  They’ve maybe cleared a quarter of the creatures intent on turning them into a light afternoon snack.

            Stuff and things just aren’t going their way.

            Percy’s tempted to pull out the .9 mm, but he knows in the end it’d do more harm than good.  More noise, fewer bullets for later.  No, the gun wasn’t a great idea.

            He huffs and adjusts the sleeves of leather on his arms before grabbing a metal nail file left on the floor of the cab.  Using his forearm as a shield, he pushes forward and gives the zombie advancing something to bite onto.  As it does, Percy jabs the nail file into its milky eyes and shoves its body away.  Another takes its place, this one stronger, larger, and, given how he’s going to town on the leather, hungrier.  It takes Percy three shots, but he buries the nail file in to the handle in its eye socket and yanks back just in time for a third to come charging from the side of the window.  This one’s sinewy and sly, managing to catch his arm hard just as he’s turning to it.  Percy releases a strangled yelp of surprise and does his best to fend it off.  Meanwhile, another has burst through the rest of the window, wheedling its body in just right to reach him. 

            Percy elbows it in the face and continues to try to stab the one latched onto his arm.  His entire shirtfront is soaked with drool and bile.  Never in his life had he so wished for a hearty shower.

            It was then that Nico had the best idea of the week.  He sat up on his knees and yelled, “ _FIGHT EACH OTHER!_ ”

            They listened.

            Within seconds, the zombies were picking fights with one another.  Gumming at one another’s heads, tearing into one another’s clothes.  It was the most beautiful sight Percy had ever seen.  He almost had to laugh, too, because some of their ideas of “fight” included Rocky-style boxing matches toned down with the fatigue of being mostly dead.  It was really nice.

            While they are distracted, he searches for an escape route. “There,” he murmurs to Nico.  There’s a narrow line of open pavement leading from the cab to the sidewalk.  There’re almost no zombies there.  It’s the safest thing to go for.

            Nico nods in silent confirmation and grabs Percy’s pitchfork.  His small knuckles whiten on the handle. “Let’s go.”

            They dart out, jumping over the bodies left strewn beside the cab, and hightail it for the side of the road.  Nico repeats the demand “Fight each other” all the while, his voice cracking worse and worse every time.

            Percy grabs his arm and guides him to the first building they find.  It’s a high-class hotel of sorts, not unlike the Marriott Percy had spent the night before in, and the doors are wide open.  Though he knows it’s a longshot the hotel will be completely empty, he has to assume it’s better than being completely exposed on the streets.  He shoves Nico that way, a hand splayed on the base of his back, and swipes Riptide at any zombies who disobey Nico’s orders.

            They make it to the hotel about a minute before their pursuers realize they are, in fact, not in the cab anymore.  Percy fastens the door locked and crouches with Nico behind the information desk.  The lobby is almost pitch black, but Percy can hear the distinct shuffling of a zombie somewhere to the left of them.  He urges Nico to sit lower on his haunches and takes a deep, quiet breath.

            “Tell the one by the veranda to kill himself, if you would?” he whispers, keeping his eyes locked on one end of the desk.

            Nico raises his brows, face apathetic. “You make it sound like I haven’t tried that.  They don’t like obeying those kind of requests.”

            Percy grumbles and wishes he had Frank with him.  One arrow, quiet as a snake, and that zombie wouldn’t be a concern.  But, alas, Frank was back at camp, relaxing with Hazel and enjoying the safety of chain-link fences.

            Meanwhile, he and Nico stay crouched down until the noise from outside dies down and all that’s left is the listless shuffling of the Lobby Zombie.  Percy wonders idly if maybe it’s another valet.

            Turns out, it wasn’t.  It was a tourist, sun-damaged skin and all.  Nico takes care of it with the pitchfork to prove that, yes, he can kill if he has to.  Percy still doesn’t buy it.

            By the time everything’s settled down, night’s fallen.  The duo’s exhausted.  They collapse in the musty chairs in the middle of the lobby and set up a tiny fire in an ashtray by which they could see. 

            Percy checks out his arms under the leather sleeves to see that, no, he wasn’t bitten, but yes, he would have bruises.  He deems his shirt officially unsanitary to wear and pulls it off (Nico averting his eyes because _dang boy_ ) and digs in his pack for his spare.  He buttons it up, covering his gorgeous musculature, and glances at Nico. “You all right?”

            Nico pulls his sleeves down his arms further. “Fine,” he says curtly.

            Percy frowns and gets up. “Are you sure?” Nico looks a little pale. “You don’t look so hot.”

            “I said I’m fine,” he restates, watching his lap. “Do you have any water?”

            Percy bites his lip hesitantly.  He barely has enough water for _himself_.  And even that was of questionable sanitation.  He wasn’t so sure if…

            “Yeah,” he says softly, digging the bottle out of his back and handing it over. “Don’t drink much.  That’s all we’ve got.”

            Nico tenses a little bit for some reason and nods.  He takes conservative sips and hands the bottle back, his eyes glued to the little fire flickering before them.  Sweat mats his hair to his forehead.

            Percy has no idea how Nico was managing to stay conscious.  I mean, it was already hot and muggy out.  But with that aviator’s jacket?  The boy must’ve been dying.

            “You rest first,” Nico says before he can even mention it. “I’ll keep watch.”

            Percy’s weary mind and muscles don’t let him argue. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shameless self promotion time. You should follow me on tumblr because reasons. Same username and jazz. 
> 
> More ASAP!


	5. The Boys are Dreamers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unrequited love and dizzying homesickness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a short chapter. I might write another tonight? Dunno yet. 
> 
> Very little to say about this one. Enjoy!

            Nico waits for Percy to go to sleep before shrugging off his jacket.  He rubs at the painful marks on his arms and sighs softly.  He watches the Plexiglas doors behind Percy for a moment before allowing his vision to settle on him.  He smiles a little.

            Percy’s hair is carelessly perfect.  All the time.  Even now, after a close call with a ravenous horde of zombies, his hair is movie-star quality perfect.  At least, Nico sees it that way.  In his opinion, everything about Percy is perfect.  He’s always thought that.

            He wonders idly if Percy remembers him.  They were in high school together before all of this started, after all.  Granted, he was just a freshmen at the time.  Percy was a big-shot senior.  Everybody loved him.  He was talented and, beneath a thin veil of jackassery, incredibly intelligent. 

            Their lockers had been close to each other.  He’d brushed passed him in the halls who knows how many times.  One time, while in the lunchroom, Percy had easily disbanded a group of juniors giving Nico and some of the other freshmen hell.  They’d even spoken once or twice.

            But, of course, Percy wouldn’t have remembered any of that.  He was used to playing hero for the underdogs.  Even the lunchroom debacle would be forgotten by him.  If Nico had a place in his mind, it was such a miniscule blip that his name probably wasn’t even remembered.  It’d probably just be _Weird Freshmen Who Plays Card Games_. 

            Of course, he’d known Bianca.  She was a sophomore at the time, so their classes hadn’t really intersected, but she and Percy had taken the same bus after school; Percy to the swim center, Bianca to the archery range.  Apparently, they’d gotten acquainted on those rides, chatting easily about grades and their extracurricular activities.  Nico was incredibly jealous of his sister at the time—almost spiteful.  But now, well, he just wishes he knew where she were.

            Nico sighs softly.  Yes, Percy had always been important to him.  He’d heard all the gossip about him, heard all the amazing things he did.  In his mind, he was a perfect hero.  The most perfect, amazing, gorgeous, funny hero of all of ever (though he’d deny it tooth and nail).  Yes, he was very important to him.  Important enough that he would leave the rendezvous point he and Bianca had decided on a week prior to help escort him safely to the edge of this horrific city.

            Bianca would understand.  She knows that, beneath all his black clothes and faux-tough exterior, Nico has a good heart.

            Percy nuzzles his bicep a little and buries face in the crux of his elbow.  Nico managed a small smile, tucking his knees to his chest.  All that mattered now was that Percy made it out safely.  That’s all that ever mattered.

           

            Percy’s mind was muddled with dreams of Annabeth.  Flashes of her gorgeous blonde hair, her glimmering gray eyes.  Little remembrances of her voice.  Soundbites from various parts of their relationship.

            He vaguely remembers the first day they’d met—they’d lived across from one another in his building.  She refused to pay any attention to him until they were twelve, and by that point he knew he was in trouble.  She was all he could think about most of the time.  His dependency on her was so deep that even he was surprised at himself.  She’d refused to accept his invitation to date until they were sixteen.  Ever since then, they’d been inseparable.  Even throughout the madness of the apocalypse, they’d kept close tabs on one another.

            That is, of course, up until a few weeks ago when they were all assigned a section of the city to scavenge.  Then they helplessly were split up, without a prayer of partnership.  The camp didn’t have enough runners to send them in groups, and their need for food was desperate enough to take the risk of singular missions, so he and Annabeth had parted ways at the city limits with a soft kiss, a caress on the cheek, and a promise to return to each other in two weeks’ time.  But, unfortunately, that was three weeks ago at least.  And he still had no idea where he was.

            He dreams of her now.  Of her agitated and chomping at the bit to try to find him, but disallowed to leave again by the head of the camp.  He had nothing against Percy, but Annabeth was too valuable to spare.  She was his strategist.  Percy was still amazed he even let her go into the city the first time.  A second time was out of the option, no matter who was on the line.

            Including him.

            So he’d have to find his way back to her.  No matter what, he’d have to try.

            He dreamed of Annabeth upset, of his mother chewing her lip anxiously, watching the gates.  Suddenly, no matter how tired he is, he can’t sleep anymore.  The anxiety brought on by the dream was too much.  He jolts awake.

            Nico pulls his jacket back on and scratches his nose, watching the floor with suspicious intensity. “Sleep well?”

            Percy grunts a little and tries to rub the sleep out of his eyes. “As well as you can with zombies waiting to eat you, I guess.”

            Nico cracks a wan smile. “I found a map.”

            This wakes Percy up the rest of the way. “Y-you did?”

            Nico nods. “I guess nobody checked the concierge desk.  There was a nice map of the city down in the cabinets.” He squirms a little to pull it out of his back pocket and hands it over the table to Percy.

             Percy grins, reaching for it, when something on Nico’s hand catches his eye.  He frowns, taking the map before reaching for it.  Nico starts to pull his hand back, but Percy grabs his wrist. “What’s…?” There’s something on his thumb, but Percy can’t make it out.  Is that…?

            Nico jolts back. “Let’s get moving, why don’t we?”

            Percy falters a little. “Aren’t you tired?”

            “No, not in the least.” He stands. “Let’s get going.” He tucks his hands into his sleeves and heads toward the door.  Percy grabs his pack and skeptically follows. 

            Nico keeps a white-knuckled grip on his sleeves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> c:


	6. Flying Hookers, Townhouses And an Obligatory Serious Bit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seriously the chapter title sums this up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote some more and got sad.

            They decide to travel in alleys.  Nico chants softly to the dead as they pass through narrow corridors, Percy covering him, Riptide held up protectively.  Sporadically, they’ll stop and look over the map, argue in hushed voices, and start back on their way still in disagreement.  Eventually, Nico gives in and they follow Percy’s native New Yorker instinct to go this direction or that, stumbling across the occasional zombie or six.  Percy fights them fearlessly.  Ever since he’s slept, Nico’s noticed a new verve about him.  Percy’s been revitalized, and not just physically.  His drive to get home surpasses Nico’s immediate understanding.

            Percy will soon ruin another shirt at this rate (not that Nico’s complaining because a shirtless Percy is definitely a Percy he wants to be around), but he doesn’t seem to notice.  He’s completely doused in drool and blood and sweat, but he just keep dredging forward, leading Nico through the labyrinth of New York City.  Nico keeps a firm grip on the back of his shirt ninety percent of the time.  He refuses to be separated from him.  Leaving him alone would mean the death of him, most likely.  Nico wouldn’t be able to cope with that on his conscience.  Wouldn’t want to cope with it.  He’d have to leave Bianca to carry on alone.

            Something unexpected happens.  There’s a loud screech from above them and, suddenly, the flailing body of a zombie comes toppling out of an apartment window, its nails raking the air, its shriek ripping through the fragile peace of the night.  Nico feels Percy grab him around the shoulders and yank him back as the Deady topples to the ground with enough force that it should’ve died.

            Should’ve being the operative word.

            It was once a woman, maybe even a beautiful woman, but now it’s nothing more than a semi-human, hissing, writhing, tangly-blonde-haired mess in cheap lingerie.  It focuses milky blue eyes on them, croaks loudly and begins dragging itself across the ground toward them.  Percy shoves Nico behind him swiftly and backs against the alley wall, Riptide aimed at the creature’s head. 

            “Stop,” Nico murmurs to it, peering out from under Percy’s arm. “Stop it, now.  Go home, girl.”

            The blondy wasn’t liking the idea.  Blood trickles out of her ear.  Percy realized, suddenly, that the fall must’ve burst at least one eardrum.  Even Nico’s little trick wouldn’t help if the zombie couldn’t hear him.

            It lurches painfully forward, mouth snapping at the air, aiming for Percy’s ankle.  He brings Riptide down hard on her neck, causing a loud squelch to echo throughout the alleyway.  She was undeterred.  Her arms stopped working, but her mouth was still intent on burying itself in Percy’s calve.

            He backs up as much as possible (Nico was a little uncomfortable with the close proximity to Percy’s Christmas-ham butt, but he wasn’t going to complain) and brings the machete back down again on the side of her head.  It thunks against the pavement, but doesn’t crush all the way in. 

            Skulls are more resilient than The Walking Dead makes them look.

            Panting softly, Percy wrenches the blade free and slams it into her skull one last time.  She twitches wildly and slinks to the asphalt, breaths coming in broken wheezes.  She isn’t long for this world.

            Nico and Percy remain silent for a long moment, standing side by side, gazing down at the crumpled girl before them.  Finally, Percy speaks words of wisdom in this time of trauma.

            “S-so I guess the zombie hookers have taken to the sky.”

            Nico takes a moment to respond. “…I-it…it would seem so, yes.”

            Unbelievably, Percy starts to laugh.  It’s a soft laugh at first, and he tries to keep it from getting too loud, but he just can’t.  Percy’s laughing maniacally over the body of an undead stripper within seconds.

            Percy has a luxurious, infectious laugh and, soon enough, Nico’s snickering too, making his throat ache.  It’s an excellent form of stress relief, even if relieving that stress means drawing the attention of every undead freak within a five block radius.

            They hurry out of there with little trouble, cackling behind their hands the whole way.

            Eventually, after too long of only running, they reach the outskirts of New York City.  Not so densely populated, but still dangerous.  Feet aching and light-headed from hunger, thirst, and physical exhaustion, the duo decide it would be better to rest up for a night before parting ways as they agreed.

            They find a small townhouse, boarded up and abandoned, and claim it for the evening.  The water’s still running and, joyfully, they both indulge in showers and drink until their stomachs feel full to bursting.  While Nico showers, Percy explores the kitchen, finding too many expired pear slices and not nearly enough viable spam.  What he does find, he stuffs into his pack.  He doesn’t, however, hesitate to eat a can of pasty ravioli.  He hasn’t eaten since that morning and, frankly, he feels he deserves it.

            Nico comes down while he’s eating.  Percy’s situated himself on the counter, his feet dangling over the edge, Riptide at his right, just in case.  Percy looks up as he shuffles down the stairs and Nico is struck for the umpteenth time by how gorgeous his eyes are.  They’re the perfect color, a shy green flirting with a vibrant blue, like the ocean water you see in those ads for Sandals Resorts.  Inviting, warm, and comforting.  Just like Percy.  And Sandals Resorts.

            Percy smiles at him and, despite the tomato sauce on his chin, Nico believes it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.  He nods conservatively back and rubs the back of his head with his towel.  It felt great to air himself out a little.  The shower was the first he’d had in four months.  He was amazed to find out his skin was a shade lighter than it was before the shower.

            Percy somehow looked better as well.  His hair was still relatively wet, sticking up at odd angles as it dried.  Though the rugged look fit him well, it was good to see him not covered in zombie drool.  Percy getting sick was…well, unthinkable. 

            He slides an opened can of Chef Boyardee to Nico and yawns. “Hungry?”

            Nico nods a little and picks up the can quietly.  He digs around in it with a fork and eventually skewers a mystery meat-stuffed ravioli.  He can’t help but feel a little down.  He knew he’d have to leave Percy tomorrow.  He’d leave him completely unprotected to go back to Central Park and hope Bianca was there.  It saddened him greatly, but he knew he had to go.  Family took priority.

            Percy notices his upset and frowns. “What’s wrong, man?”  

            Nico looks up and manages a weak shrug. “Just wondering how you’re gonna survive without me.”

            Percy laughs.  Nico feels a twist of bittersweet happiness curl up in the pit of his stomach. “I’m wondering that myself, man,” he jokes, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.  Percy gives him a playfully inquisitive look and says, “You sure you can’t come to Arcade with me?”

            Nico feels blood beginning to gather in his cheeks.  He looks back at the can of ravioli and nods. “Yeah.  Yeah, I’m sure.  I’ve got to wait for my sister, Bianca.  She said she’d meet me at Central Park, I…I’ve got to wait.”

            Percy doesn’t respond.  Suddenly, the overwarm kitchen feels much, much colder.  Nico glances back at Percy to see that all the color has drained from his face.  Nico feels his hair stand on end, his face begin to pale.

            Percy’s mind races.  The girl he’d met, about a week ago.  The one he used to know, vaguely, from the bus.  The one he talked with on the way to swim practice.  Bianca.  She’d found him.  He’d told her of the camp, of the safety outside the city.  She’d said yeah, that’d be great.  But she’d said that first she needed to get food for her and her little brother.  He’d said, what a coincidence, I need food for my camp.  They’d shared anxious laughter and set off toward a grocery store.  Together, they’d worked to raid it.  Bianca said she was going to check the backroom.  He didn’t go with her.

            Moments later, she was screaming.  He hurried in, but it was too late.  She was bleeding out, an undead man in a grocer’s smock digging into her neck.

            He’d shot them both and ran, feeling too stunned to think straight.

            Bianca had a little brother.  Nico.  Nico, Bianca’s little brother, was still waiting for his sister to come back to him.

            Percy feels like vomiting.

            Nico’s breaths are short and shallow. “Wh-where’s Bianca.” Not answering him is not an option.

            “N-Nico, I…I’m so sorry.  Your sister’s…she’s…she’s dead, I...” Percy shuts his mouth.

            Guilt, anger, and heartbreak crash down so hard the air goes taut as guitar strings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> be sad with me.


	7. Camp Update and Uncomfortable Silences Along the Highway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annabeth gives her two cents on camp matters. Nico mourns. Percy just does not know what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW OKAY THANK YOU FOR ALL THE HITS AND KUDOS AND JAZZ WOW 
> 
> LIKE WOW OKAY

            Annabeth paces in front of the fence.  A couple of country-dwelling zombies try to squeeze their hands through the links to reach her, but she doesn’t notice them.  If they want her, they’re welcome to try for her.  She’s in the mood to practice some zombie-killing anyways. 

            She closes her eyes for a long moment.  She’s done this four times already today.  Every time she opens her eyes, she expects to see Percy’s battered and worn SUV cresting the horizon.  But so far the dirt road is vacant and the air is empty of the grumbling of engines.  The fifth time yields no different results.

            She would return to the head of the camp, plead again to be let out, to go find Percy, but she doubts it would help.  She’d already tried more times than she could be bothered to remember.  The answer had always been the same: No, I need you here. 

            Well, she doesn’t really want to be here.  She wants to be kicking some deadhead-butt and searching for Percy.  She knows he’s alive.  She’s not sure how, but she knows.

            The Outside calls for her.  Until, of course, she hears Jason yelling and multiple shrill shrieks and she knows that the Outside is doing more than call.  It’s coming to her.

 

            Nico watches the ahead of him in shock.  It’s been ten hours since he learned the news of his sister’s death and, to be honest, he wasn’t entirely surprised to find out.  He’d had this gnaw at his gut that told him that, yes, his sister was dead.

            That foreknowledge didn’t stop him from getting mad at Percy, though.

            He’d broken up in tears while Percy was telling him how it happened, how long ago, and why.  When he’d moved to comfort him, Nico had shoved him away and screamed at him so loud he was surprised nothing came clawing its way into their safe haven.

            “Wh-why didn’t you go with her!?” he’d screamed, his voice fragile and crackly as old paper.

            Percy flinched, but didn’t move away. “I-I don’t know.  I w-wasn’t thinking straight.  Nico, I-I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

            “Sh-shut up!  Shut up!” He couldn’t make himself hurt Percy, but he, himself, was another story.  He darted up the stairs, ignoring Percy’s protest, and locked himself in the master bedroom.  Though the water in the house still worked, the electricity did not.  In the darkness Nico stumbled over an overturned dresser, blinded as much by his tears as the suffocating night of the room.  He scramble onto the bed and buried his face in dusty comforter.

            Stupid Percy.  Why didn’t he just go with her?  Then she’d be alive too.  They’d all be alive, happy, safe.  Safe _r_ , at least.  Stupid Percy.

            He claws at the skin on his forearms enough to draw blood.

            But then, he knows he can’t blame it all on Percy.  This is his fault too.  He should’ve gone with her.  He should’ve kept her safe.  She couldn’t talk to the dead like he could.  He could’ve kept them both safe.

            He hated himself.  He hated himself for letting Bianca go alone, for trying to hate Percy, for being the reason his family couldn’t get into the camp.  He hated himself so much.

Heartsad and isolated, Nico sobbed himself asleep, his mind creating comfort for him by dreams of Mama and Sissy and him, strolling along the walkways by the Venice canals, happy and smiling and so beautifully alive.  But, of course, when he woke up he wasn’t in Venice, enjoying gelato and throwing scraps to the dogs on the streets.  He was curled up in a dead man’s bed somewhere outside of New York City with crushed spirits and emptiness in place of coherent thought.  Only one thought bled through: He needed to break something.

 

            Percy walks a little behind him now, his hands clasped around the hilt of Riptide, trying to pay attention to anything but Nico.  Just a glimpse of him is enough to sucker punch him with a debilitating amount of guilt.  Percy looks around uneasily.

Nico watches the storefronts with disturbing intensity.

            When Nico had come downstairs that morning, his eyes had been swollen and red.  His hair was completely wild, clothes rumpled.  If it were possible for him to look more out of sorts than he had the day before, he did.

            Nico hadn’t greeted him with any kind of forgiveness, kindness, anything.  No sign of reconciliation.  He’d just murmured, “Let’s get going” and shoved out the door.

            Percy watches him now as they trudge along.  Nico’s had his stare set stubbornly on anything but Percy since he woke up.  His shoulders are squared, his jaw tensed.  His hair is tied back in a tight, short ponytail that can’t be comfortable.  But Percy keeps returning to one thought: Nico refuses to look at him.

            Percy’s a little upset by that, but he can’t blame him.  He feels horrible and miserable as is, and he barely knew her.  

            Eventually Nico runs ahead.  He’s a lot faster than Percy expects and it takes him a moment to recognize that he doesn’t need to follow.  Nico hasn’t gone far, but he’s far enough away to safely yell, “Come on, guys!  Come get me!  Nico’s good this time of year!”

            Within seconds, five zombies are lurching quickly towards him, their mouths agape and their hands forward.  Percy’s opening his mouth to try to call to Nico when, suddenly, he understands what he’s doing.

            Nico’s face is twisted in rage and heartbreak.  He’s not suicidal so much as he is in need of release.  Percy wires his jaw shut.

            The zombies suddenly skid to a stop.  Nico’s chanting something softly, his hands clenched into small fists.  They crumble instantly, collapsing on themselves.  They’re nothing more than dilapidated corpses within seconds. 

            Nico picks up a discarded iron pipe and gracefully bashes in the heads of each zombie (just in case) before he starts back to Percy.  He shoves the pipe in his belt loop and brushes by his counterpart. “Let’s go.”

            Percy’s already walking. “What…how’d you…?”

            Nico seems weary. “I just did, Percy.”

            They lapse back into a silence that lasts for three straight miles.  Nico cries from the two mile point on.

            They stop in the middle of the afternoon, moving now by cover of the scarce trees along the highway to combat the heat.  They slump in the shadow of an abandoned Hostess truck and succumb to wheezing.  Nico pulls off his aviator jacket and folds it in his lap…to reveal a black-and-red checkered flannel underneath. 

            Percy frowns.  He almost says “Aren’t you dying” but then realizes how tactless and just awful that would be and stops himself.  Instead, he goes with something much more suave.

            “Aren’t you hot?”

            Nico glances up, eyes wide for a second.  Then he blinks, runs a hand through his messy, sweaty hair, and shakes his head.

            Percy doubts that’s true.  He can tell by how rosy his face is that Nico’s overheating.  His breaths are shallow and quick.

            “At least unbutton it,” Percy says, nodding to his chest.

            Nico sticks him with a glare and opens his mouth like he’s going to say something barbed, but closes it again and obediently unbuttons his shirt.  Of course, his black skull shirt is still underneath that.

            Percy groans. “There’s no way you aren’t d—uh, overheating.”

            Nico scowls at the asphalt. “I’m not _dying_ or overheating, Jackson.  Leave me alone.”

            Percy doesn’t get the subtle message. “It’s just, I know underneath these babies—” Percy tugs on one of his leather sleeves “—I’m getting pruny.  I can’t imagine—”

            “Shut up, Jackson, I swear.”

            “—how you must feel, like, _wrapped_ in the winter clothes.  You’re insane.”

            Nico just glowers at the ground. 

            He decides it’s going to be a long road to Arcade.


	8. Wow They Actually Aren't Miserable?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shocking development: Characters are not emotionally tortured for a little while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo I grossly miscalculated the distance from Manhattan to Arcade, so their travels are going to take a lot longer than I initially figured. :D Totally my bad, should've checked it out beforehand, but whatever. Please ignore factual issues 'cos yup. 
> 
> I'm not sure what happened in this chapter, but it sure happened. Enjoy!

            A couple of days have passed, and Nico’s beginning to feel at least slightly better.  Though his sister’s death still weighs on him horribly, he’s able to push down all the sadness and control it better than before.  He doesn’t let himself cry anymore, though Percy doesn’t seem to mind.  If he’d let him, Percy even offered to rub his back and comfort him.  But, of course, he’d never allow himself that comfort.  He needed to deal with this himself.

            They walk now, side by side, moving by the absolute silence and darkness of countryside night.  Percy insists they keep close to a stream running along the side of the road, claiming there was a “hella stream just like it” by camp.  Nico’s skeptical, but doesn’t deny him the pleasantry of following the hella stream, given it’s been tracking along with the road signs pointing toward Arcade and it seems to comfort Percy in a way.  No matter how miffed Nico is, he refuses to deprive Percy of any comfort he can find.  It’d just be cruel.

            Percy walks closer to the side of the road, letting Nico stroll along the dotted lines of the highway.  Nico experimentally taps the side of any cars he passes, waiting for something to come springing at the window, but it never happens.  Percy really wishes he’d quit provoking trouble.

            Luggage is strewn across the road, cans of food and masses of strangers’ clothing pouring out of them.  Though they felt a little guilty, Percy and Nico collected everything they could.  It didn’t take long for Percy to empty out a grandmother-style roller bag and fill it to the brim with clothes, food, and jugs of water in bleach bottles.

            They were definitely thankful for the hardcore survivalists who’d kindly left behind most of their possessions before they died.

            Percy glances over at Nico, who is clearly exhausted.  Percy’s not sure just how long it’s been since he’s actually slept, but he knows that, if his head is drooping that much, it’s been way too long.

            “Nico?”

            He glances over lazily, eyes hooded. “Mm?”

            “You tired?”

            “N-n.”

            “You’re tired.”

            Percy walks over and gently takes his arm, guiding him to an SUV they’d already cleared as unoccupied, and pours him in.  Nico slouches in the passenger seat, murmuring little protests about not being tired as Percy rounds the front of the car and climbs in behind the steering wheel. “Sleep, Nico.”

            “Nuh.”

            Percy rolls his eyes and leans over the center console, digging around for the lever to put Nico’s seat back. “Get some rest, then we’ll get going.  Okay?”

            “Buh…”

            “ _Nico_.”

            “’Just a…a nap…”

            Percy smiles a little and nods. “Just a nap.  Okay, bud.”

            Nico’s nap turns into a five-hour long semi-coma, during which Percy discovers just how cute Nico is when he sleeps.  He tucks his knees to his chest and lays his head on his upper arm, keeping his body curled up in a neat ball.  His face looks so much younger, sweeter.  Smoother.

            And he snores.  Percy smiles.  He doesn’t really mind it.  Just as long as Nico’s resting.  All that matters right now is that Nico’s safe and healthy.

            Suddenly, taken by a fit of overpowering affection, Percy leans in and plants a kiss on Nico’s forehead.

            The little guy’s nose scrunches up a little.  He tosses his head a little and paws at his face.  This does nothing to deter Percy’s aforementioned overpowering affection fit. 

            He’s got that feeling you get when you see a newborn puppy trying to walk around or when you see a kitten lapping milk out of a bowl.  That feeling that makes you want to clench your teeth and squeal like an excitable schoolgirl.  Makes you flap your wrists in enthusiasm because, holy crap, can something _really_ be that cute?

            Percy’s answer was yes.  Because, in that moment, Nico was cuter to him than any puppy, kitten or other baby animal.  Even baby otters.

            Of course, that is the same moment Nico sprawls out a little and almost topples out of his seat.  Percy has to subdue a smile.

            Nico yawns and scrambles back up.  He’s still half asleep, but he manages to murmur, “Perc…cy?”

            “Yeah?”

            “Mm.”

            “All right, Nico.”

            Nico stretches one of his little hands out over the center console and gropes around for a little while.  Percy watches as it comes to rest at his side and snugly clasps onto his shirt.  Percy glances at Nico to see if he were aware of his iron grip on his shirt to find that he’s mostly asleep again.  Carefully, he tries to peel Nico’s hand away.

            “Nnnnn.”

            “Oh.  All right, Neeks.”

            So Percy lets Nico hold onto his shirt until he finally wakes up, makes a comment about how gross Percy looks, and lowers himself back onto the road.  Percy grins and follows him.

            It’s early morning by now, and the sun’s shining more brightly than it had been in the city.  It casts orange rays over everything, spreading a sort of feeling of hope.  Percy can’t help but grin.  Optimism thuds in time with his heart as he trots to catch up with Nico.

            The drowsy little Italian seems unaware of the splendid morning.  His face is set in a snug glare that is drastically different from his pouty sleeping face.  He sighs and turns his glower up to the sky as if he’s indignant it dare shine in his presence. “Arcade’s how far from Manhattan, again?”

            Percy thinks a second and checks some of the road signs they pass. “Well, it’s a ways...”

            “Define ‘a ways’.”

            “More than a hundred miles.”

            Nico stops and turns to him. “Are you screwing with me?”

            Percy smiles helplessly.

            Nico scowls. “Why didn’t your people send you to, I don’t know, some city _closer_ to your camp?”

“Nico, we’ve been there for _six_ _months_.  We’ve kind of exhausted those resources.”

Nico hates that that makes sense.  He groans loudly. “We need a car.  Now.”


	9. Cars and Kids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> holy hell what

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO this. I'll probably update again later. Depends on stuff and the occasional thing. 
> 
> Enjoy!

            “Keys?”

            “Nope.”

            “And there’s no way you can, like, hijack it or anything?”

            “Uhm…no, not unless you have a how-to manual or something.”

            “God, Percy, it’s the end of the world.  If there was ever a time to know how to hijack cars, now would be it.”

            “Well _excuuuse_ me!  I missed the last Hijacking Cars for Beginners course right before the collapse of society!  I’ll be _sure_ to do better next time!”

            Nico groans with impressive volume.

            “Look, we’ll just keep up the search ‘til we find some car with keys.  No biggie, yeah?” Percy flashes a thousand watt smile.  Nico gazes at his boots and scratches his brow.

            “Fine.  I don’t really see any other options.”

            “Well, we could try my idea…”

            “ _No_.”

            Percy’s idea consisted of roughly twenty-four zombies, a sled, and excessive use of the word “mush”.  Nico is not a fan of this idea for obvious reasons.

            Percy rolls his eyes. “Oh, all right.  Help me find a car, then.”

            “One with keys that just so happens to work after x-months flaccid.” Nico recognizes his use of the word “flaccid” instead of “placid” a little too late to correct himself.

            “Haaaa.  You said _flaccid_.”

            Nico fights to keep the red out of his cheeks. “G-God, you’re such a dork.”

            Percy laughs that melodious laugh of his and Nico’s knees buckle.  He takes a steadying breath and peers into a car.

            “Holy hell,” he murmurs, wiping at the glass with his sleeve.

            “What?” Percy asks, peering over his shoulder.

            Nico chooses to ignore his breath on his neck.  And instead points into the cab of the car.

            There are keys resting on the passenger seat.  There’s a little Disneyworld charm on the keychain, plus a picture of three kids and their parents encased in plastic.  Very cheery.

            It becomes clear to Percy why this little momento was left behind when he glances into the backseat and sees those three smiling children from the image drooling and hissing at them.  Percy jumps back a little, staring at the emancipated children with disgust and pity.

            Nico just sighs softly. “We’ll have to kill them if we want the car, you know.”

            “Can’t you just tell them to walk away?”

            “Since when do children listen to anyone?”

            Percy bites his lip.  The little girl from the picture throws herself at the window, her mouth open and completely dry.

            Nico turns to him and, with a little hesitation, puts a hand on his arm. “Percy.  This is the first car we’ve found with keys since…forever, I guess.  We need to take advantage of this situation.”

            “But…Nico, they’re just kids, I…”

            “They’re suffering, Percy.” He nods back to them. “They’ve probably been in that car for months, baking, but they _can’t die_.  It’s cruel.”

            Percy bites his lip again.  Though Nico adores his good heart, he can’t empathize with it right now.  After all, he could swear he could feel the dead kids’ pain.

            “We need to help them by putting them out of their misery.  Trust me.  Please.”

            Percy’s shoulders sag. “But what if they come up with a cure?  A-and these kids are dead for it?”

            Nico snorts bitterly. “’They’ who, Percy?  The underground scientists?” He shakes his head. “There’s nobody, Percy.  There’s no cure.  No hope.  The only thing we can do is perpetuate humanity by showing mercy in these kinds of cases.” He glances back at the kids. “They’re trying to die so hard, Percy.  They need our help.”

            Percy is in shock.  That whole spiel was unexpected.  What made it worse was that he found himself agreeing to what had been said, no matter how awful it sounded.  He nods a little. “All…all right.  Okay.  But I’m not killing them.  That’s your job.”

            Nico nods solemnly and takes a steadying breath.  He grabs the pipe from his belt loop. “I’ll let them out on the passenger side.  You get the car ready and be ready to drive at a moment’s notice.  All right?”

            Percy nods, lips pressed together in a tight line.  He adjusts the leather sleeves and runs a hand through his hair. “Ready when you are.”

            Nico nods, fixing Percy with a long look before releasing a sigh. “Get on the driver’s side.  Stay quiet.”

            Percy nods, keeping quiet as he heads to the other side of the car.  Guilt’s gnawing away at him even now, but he knows what they’re doing really is for the best.  He watches worriedly as Nico riles up the three in the backseat by yelling at them and flailing his arms excessively.  They push at the car window and seem to hiss loud enough to be heard for miles.

            Finally, Nico opens the door and darts back, toward the downward curve of the ravine at the side of the road.  All three of them come tumbling out after him, stumbling on shaky legs down the slope.  Nico shouts at them, backing against an overturned car in the ditch and holding his pipe out defensively.

            Percy scrambles to grab the keys.  He does his best to ignore the bloody spots decorating the front seats and jams the keys into the ignition.  He revs the engine, murmuring softly for it to work.  There’s a mechanical snarl, a sputter, then silence.  He tries again.

            Nico brings the pipe down on the head of the biggest one, already panting hard. “C’mon, you dead freaks!  Come get me!” The biggest, only dazed and now oozing gray matter, staggers forward on gelatinous legs.  The other two follow only a few feet behind.  Nico curses loudly and kicks the biggest in the stomach.  It topples over and hisses as its wounded head hits the ground.  Nico can’t be bothered with its discomfort right now, though, because _holy crap there are two more_.  He doesn’t see how Percy can kill these things with so much ease.  Then he remembers, oh yeah, the whole _muscle_ thing.  Something he feels he should look into.  

            Percy’s still stoking the engine, tapping his foot rapidly.

            The runt of the three, bringing up the back of the pack, hears the car and starts to crawl back up the hill.   Nico’s a bit too preoccupied to notice.

            He brings the pipe down on the girl’s head so hard there’s an audible crack.  His pipe’s actually a little dented when he brings it back to himself.  The girl sways a little and lurches forward one last time.  Nico uses the most of his dwindling strength to slam the pipe into its eye.

            The bigger one is still struggling to stand.  Nico picks up a rock and walks over to it, panting horribly.  It reaches for him.  Sighing softly, Nico pegs the rock at its head and looks around.  The little one was gone.  Nico pales and darts up the hill, driven by a new wave of adrenaline.

            Percy’s whacking the dashboard.  He curses softly and keeps trying, getting the engine to growl for a moment.  It turns into a soft purr after a few seconds and Percy can’t help but laugh happily.  Then he feels the little hands grabbing his thigh and looks down, horrified, to see the runt gurgling and snapping its teeth in satisfaction.  Percy yelps instinctively.  It launches itself forward.

            Percy shoves at its head, unable to wield Riptide in such a confined place, and narrowly evades getting his middle finger bitten off.  He kicks it solidly, but it just slides away and comes slinking back toward him.

            Nico sprints over and releases a strangled grunt as he ungracefully tackles the writhing little ball of disease and pins it to the ground.  He wrestles with it for a moment as Percy hurries out of the car, grabbing for Riptide.  Nico wedges his pipe between its teeth and yells, “Kill it, Percy!  Kill it!”

            Percy doesn’t argue.  He slams the blade into its head and, after a few seconds of sputtering and squirming, it goes limp.  Nico’s panting hard, his face ashen and fragile.  He releases the body and reclaims his pipe before stumbling over to Percy.  They look at each other for a moment before Nico falls forward and hugs onto him, burying his face in his chest. “I-I thought…when y-you yelled…I-I thought it b-bit you…I-I…”  

            Percy’s a little surprised by the gesture at first, then smiles softly and wraps his arms around him. “I’m all right, Neeks.  Don’t worry about me.”

            Nico’s response is murmured by his shirt. “Don’t tell me wh-what to do, Jackson.”

            Percy laughs.  After a moment of quiet embrace, they load up the hard-won car and start inland, toward Arcade.  Nico tucks his hands in his over-large jacket’s sleeves.  He watches out the window as Percy drives and can’t help but tremble.

            His hand is killing him.


	10. Percy Almost Loses It (In a Bad Way)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy thinks about Annabeth (what a dork). Nico has a fever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so you guys' support and stuff is just incredible thank you so much omggfgkmn
> 
> I'm really enjoying emotionally wrecking these two more than I should be. It's bad.
> 
> I really enjoyed writing this chapter because copious amounts of purple prose and I got to listen to super dramatic music (a recipe for fun writing time if there ever was one). 
> 
> I hope you guys like it!

            Percy drives until the gas tank’s running on fumes.

            Nico’s silent the whole way, his hands tucked in his lap, dipping in and out of wakefulness.  Every time his chin dips to his chest and his thoughts succumb to whimsical dreams, his mind chooses to focus on two things: His sister and Percy.  Before Bianca and After Bianca, Before Percy and After Percy. 

            Neither helps ease his mind very much.  Before Bianca fills him with a musky nostalgia so overpowering he feels his throat close up.  After Bianca tears up his heart and fills his chest with nitroglycerin.  Before Percy makes his legs weak and his guts twist with hopeless longing.  After Percy is a sucker-punch of anger, guilt, longing and concern that makes him see stars. 

            He snorts awake for the fifth time.

            Percy glances over at him as is head starts to dip again.  He’s beginning to worry about him.  Sweat’s settled on his brow.  He looks much paler than usual, his skin taking on an almost translucent quality.  He’s not staying awake for very long.

            Now, Percy knows the telltale signs of early-onset Plague.  He knows what to look for and how much time he has to act if his fears are confirmed before his companion mutates into a cannibal corpse (hehe). 

            And that’s exactly why he’s so worried.  Fatigue and fever are the first signs.

            Nico murmurs something—was that his name?—and snuggles up to the car door.  Percy sighs softly.  The car’s fixing to break down and they’re only about twenty-five miles closer to their destination.  Percy’s trying to remember how Hollywood movies say to siphon gas when the car finally rolls to a complete halt.

            Nico grumbles softly and looks up, his dark eyes bleary and hooded. “Are we there?” he asks, looking around confusedly.

            “Not even close, Neeks,” Percy says, yawning.  It’s been such a long day. 

Nico clearly agrees.  He slums back against the car door. “What time is it?”

            Percy glances at his watch. “Almost eight.”

            “’M tired…”

            Percy nods in affirmation. “I am too.  You rest up first, all right?”  
            Nico rubs at the sweat on his brow. “Mm…” He’s out like a light in seconds.

            Percy does his best to stay awake.  If anything _is_ wrong with Nico, he needs to be awake to monitor.  He needs to be totally sure they’re both safe and healthy.  But Nico’s soft breaths are cajoling him to sleep.  The birds outside are chirping softly.  The pleasant warmth of the evening isn’t too hot or too cold.  Perfect.  Percy d0esn’t mean to, but he drifts off to sweet thoughts of Annabeth.  Strawberry picking with her in the country last summer.  Their first date; clichéd candlelit dinner at an Italian restaurant he could barely afford.  The late night they spent together, twisted in blankets, chuckling nervously and gently touching with fumbling hands and timid fingertips.

            Unfortunately, happiness didn’t follow him into his dreams.

            _He knows instantly that Annabeth is dead.  He doesn’t know how he knows it, but he does.  She is dead and he is about to die._

_Percy looks around, every movement blurred around the edges.  He’s holding Riptide, but it’s smoky.  It’s not real, it’s just fog in his hands.  He tries to hold onto it, but it dissipates and whisks toward the ceiling.  He paws for it, but to no avail._

_His sleeves of leather are gone.  His “trident” is nowhere to be found.  He only has his gun, and he has no idea if it’s even loaded._

_There’s a growling coming from somewhere.  Somewhere, everywhere, purring up and down his spine, reverberating in his ears.  His body stiffens.  The purring growl, the gentle snarl, seems to crawl up the back of his neck.  The hair on his nape stands on end._

_The growl comes to an abrupt stop.  He knows he’s supposed to turn around.  As quickly as he can, he turns to find himself staring at the decrepit New York he just left.  Only there’s no sign of life—not even the reanimated kind.  The liveliest things in sight are the dancing flames crawling up the Rockefeller Building._

_He hears a breath from somewhere to his left and looks that way, the landscape distorting.  It takes a long moment for his vision to settle.  When it does, he sees something that makes his voice catch in his throat._

_Nico.  Little Nico, staring at him with cataract’d eyes and a mouth of bloody drool.  His skin is pallor.  His veins are painfully obvious beneath it.  Cold emanates into the air around him.  His jacket is in tatters.  His hair is down, tangled, matted, completely wild._

_He steps toward Percy, a hand outstretched.  Glazed eyes hold glossy ones.  Percy’s mouth opens in a silent scream which yields no release._

_Fumbling, Percy lifts the gun.  He’s terrified and heart sad, but he knows what he has to do.  He knows what Nico would’ve wanted him to do.  He clings to the gun and tries to shoot._

_No ammo._

_Nico staggers forward.  His face looks pained.  Percy holds the gun, ready to use it as a blunt object if necessary, and backs away, but the world around him is too slow and the world around Nico is too fast._

_Soon enough his arms are around his shoulders.  The gun is falling.  And then Percy is falling back in slow motion.  Nico’s moving quickly.  His fingers dig into Percy’s shoulder blades.  Nico’s mouth is against his neck._

_Nico has slowed down for just a moment.  His teeth touch the skin of his neck for a moment, grazing over it with gentleness and timidity.  Percy shudders._

_Then Nico speeds back up and rips his neck to pieces._

Percy jerks awake.  Cold sweat decorates his forehead and stains through his shirt’s underarms.  He gazes out the window for a long while before he notices something.  Nico isn’t in the seat next to him.  The door is unlocked and very slightly ajar, and Nico is nowhere in sight.

            The worst comes to mind instantly.  A prophetic dream, perhaps?

            He checks the backseat, but finds nothing but the mess left behind by the children and their belongings.  Shaking, Percy gulps and looks around.  His hand is on the butt of the .9 mm.  He’s ready for an attack.

            The door opens and Nico gets in.  Within a second Percy has the gun trained on his head.

            Nico glances at him, brow furrowed, shock only in his eyes, his face blank.

            “So I guess it’s not okay for me to go pee, huh.”

            Nico doesn’t look sick anymore.  His skin’s regained some color, and he seems much more aware.

            Percy blinks and tucks the gun away. “I-I…I’m sorry…I-I just…”

            Nico shrugs. “It’s fine.  Just don’t shoot at me.”

            Taking in a shaky sigh, Percy says, “Deal” with conviction.  

            Percy keeps his dream to himself as they get out of the car and begin trying to siphon gas out of cars along the side of the road. 

            He’d noticed something for the few seconds while they were together.  Nico is wearing fingerless gloves now.  He wasn’t sure where he got them, and he wasn’t sure why he needed them, but Nico had them.  He decided not to question it.  Nico seemed to like winter clothing.

            As Percy stands watch (Nico trying desperately to coax some gas out by using a piece of tubing they’d found on the side of the road, claiming he knew how to siphon gas because he’d “seen a how-to on the Internet”), he wonders if Nico would tell him if he’d been bitten or if he’d just let it run its course and maybe kill Percy in the process.  He wasn’t sure, but the feeling of anxiety built up so much that he almost asked.

            While he was gathering the courage to, a man shouts something from behind them.

            “You two stuck?”

            Nico jumps, sucks a little gas into his mouth, and sputters wildly.  Percy puts a hand on his shoulder and helps him stand, crimping the tube shut as he does.  He gazes at the man, trying to form words.   _Another survivor._

            The man standing before them is large, meaty and decked out in hunter’s camouflage.  He has a full-length beard and an American flag bandana tied around his forehead.  A gentleman if there ever was one.

            “Need some help?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think im gonna name the survivor cleft or something of equal or greater vapidity 
> 
> also things are gonna get worse so yep


	11. I Named Him Cleft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cleft gets a little invasive. The boys bond. Nico takes his gloves off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okAY THE HITS ARE WOW  
> THANK YOU
> 
> Also, sorry if this chapter's a little eh-y. It's been a long, weird day, and frankly I'm impressed I managed to update at all. Ha, anyways, I hope it's still okayish! 
> 
> And don't get mad at me, this chapter can go so many more ways than it seems ;D

            Percy doesn’t like their fellow survivor, Cleft.  He smells even worse than they do, and Percy’s pretty sure he’s holding a ton of small mammals hostage in his facial hair.  But he can get over that for a good night’s rest and an easier possible way to get them some gasoline.

Cleft lives in a cabin off the highway.  It was clearly abandoned before all of this occurred, but Cleft has managed to make it somewhat homey by putting a rug down and sweeping up most of the rat droppings.

            The boarding on the windows really makes the place cozy too, Percy thinks.

            Nico keeps close to Percy’s side, eyeing Cleft with skepticism. “I don’t like him,” he whispers, shooting a look up at Percy. “He’s freaky.  And Cleft isn’t a name.  Who gets named Cleft?” (quiet nico)

            Percy shrugs. (you too, sea boy)

            Cleft glances back at them. “Y’all ‘re welcome to stay here as long as you like.”

            Percy smiles wanly. “Thanks, uh, sir, but we really only need some gas and we can be on our way.” He hates to admit it, but the thought of having a night of peace—even if it is here, in Old Uncle Clefty’s Rat Crap Emporium—sounds too good to turn down.  His nap didn’t help rejuvenate him too much.

            “Aw, I can get y’all two plenty a’ gas first thing in the morning.  Too dangerous to be creeping around out there at night anyways.” Cleft scratched the top of his balding head. “Yep, first thing in the mornin’, we’ll fix y’all two up with a siphonin’ pump and you’ll be on your way.”

            Nico rubs at his forearm with a gloved hand. “Why are you helping us?”

            Cleft grins at him.  Nico shifts closer to Percy. “Gotta help out whoever’s left, don’t you think?”

            Percy can have his dull moments. “I agree completely.”

            Nico is incredulous.

            Cleft fixes them some chowder from a can for dinner and chats with them about how things are outside his little world.  Percy tells him in brief about the camps and politely listens as Cleft shares his conspiracy theories about them.

            “They’re just tryna round y’all up so it’ll make it easier to kill ya.”

            “You’re probably right.”

            “That’s why I live on m’own, ya see.”

            “Mm.”

            “No safety in numbers, no sir.”

            “Nooo sir.” Percy sips at a cool spoonful of potato chowder, his eyes locked patiently onto Cleft’s face.

            Nico just watches between them, his brow furrowed and his lips pursed.  He scratches at his wrist, leaning forward a little to try to figure out how Percy can manage to be so gentle with a guy like Cleft who is literally claiming that he lives in a death camp.

            Percy just nods pleasantly, emitting kindness and acceptance.

            Nico watches his soup bowl to keep from blushing too obviously.

            Finally, Cleft nods them toward a small room to sleep in.  Percy thanks him with social grace Nico tries to imitate and starts down the hall.

            As Nico moves to follow, Cleft catches him by the arm and murmurs, “There’s a charge for stayin’, ya know.” His voice drips unpleasant suggestion.

            Nico watches the ground solemnly. “I figured there might be.”

            Cleft tries to strong-arm him into looking at him. “You oughta pay up front.” He moves to take away Nico’s pipe.  

            Nico can’t get free.  He growls softly under his breath. “Questo culo grasso vuole il mio culo, cosa diavolo c'è di sbagliato in questa apocalisse…”

            Cleft’s got his weapon now. “Wanna say that a little louder?”

            Nico rolls his eyes.  This isn’t the first pervert he’s met since the start of this.

            “Neeks!” Percy yells from the room. “You coming?”  
            Nico manages to pull free of Cleft.  He grabs the pipe away from him and calls back, “On my way now, Percy.” Cleft glowers at him as he hurries to the room he and Percy are sharing.

            As he goes, he does his best to ignore the eyes burrowing into his shoulders.  He knows why Cleft is after him.  He isn’t exactly effeminate in build, but he’s a good bit closer to girly than Percy is. 

            But he has no intention of becoming Cleft’s plaything any time soon; price for staying or no.

            Percy’s already made the little room cozy.  Nico can’t tell if that’s simply because of his warm presence or that he had spread out the blankets they had found in the highway cars to make a sort of nest, but he doesn’t mind either way.  He feels safe when he’s around Percy.  Even though he’d stuck a gun to his head only about three hours beforehand.

            Percy gives him a bright grin and nods to the spot next to him. “You’ve got to be tired,” he says, his voice a little too chipper.

            Nico raises his brows, closing the thin door behind him. “Why do you say that?”

            Percy’s smile falters.  He picks up Riptide and holds it out, shepherding Nico away from the door. “Fatigue’s been setting in.” Nico gives him a confused look. “I know you got bit when you grabbed that kid.”

            “That makes one of us?” Nico says, raising his brows. “What’re you talking about, Percy?”            

            “You know good and well, Nico,” he says, nodding to his arms. “You’ve got bites all over them, don’t you?”

            Nico blinks. “N-no, Percy, I don’t.  Why would you think that?”

            Percy rolls his eyes like it should be obvious.  His façade of self-confidence is crumbling.  Pain and betrayal flash across his face.  His hands tremble. “The long sleeves all the time.  The gloves.  The fever, the tiredness, I…”

            Nico manages a soft smile, pain lacing his face now as well. “Overheating, Percy.  The long sleeves can make me overheat.  I don’t have any leather stuff like you, you know.  The gloves just help me hold the pipe.”

            Percy’s expression droops a little. “B-but…”

            Nico feels a little burst of confidence. “Percy, come here.”

            “N-no.”

            “Percy, please.  I don’t want you to drop your machete or anything, just…come here.”

            Hesitantly, he steps forward, his bright eyes locked onto Nico’s dark ones.  The machete droops a little.  Percy’s beginning to realize just how scared he is.  Not only for himself, but for Nico.  What would he do if his companion died?  Got sick, had to be killed?  They’d only been traveling with each other for about a week, but he felt a bond beginning to solidify.  The thought of it being severed…he shudders to think of it.

            Nico looks up at him, sympathy threaded into the softest places of his face, and gentles a hand onto the back of his neck.  He tries not to notice how Percy tenses up at his touch, but it’s difficult not to.  He sighs softly and pulls Percy’s head down to rest on his clavicle.

            “Hear that?” he asks, his voice soft.

            Percy listens to the quickening _thu-thud thu-thud_ of Nico’s heard and nods a little, watching the wall opposite him.  He doesn’t object to their close proximity.  He doesn’t even feel uncomfortable.  Just…bathed in protection and relief.

            Nico’s begun to twist his fingers lazily in his hair without noticing he was doing so. “You and I both know that would’ve stopped hours ago if I’d been bitten.”

            Percy nods a little, closing his eyes.

            Nico releases him and looks him in the eye. “If I ever get bitten, I promise I’ll tell you.”

            Percy clears his throat. “Goes both ways, Neeks.”

            After a long moment of uncomfortable appraisal, they shuffle their way toward the nest of blankets belonging to the anonymous and to the unsanctimonious silence of the room’s corner and collapse there.  Percy shrugs off his leather sleeves, undoing the straps that hold them to his body.  Nico removes the aviator jacket, but not his flannel shirt or the gloves.  Percy presses his lips together.

            “Nico?”

            “Yes?”

            “Why’re you keeping the gloves on?  Because, you know, I don’t see your weapon anywhere.”

            Nico bites his lip.

            After a long moment of struggle, Percy manages to wrestle off his gloves to reveal a nasty gash running along his thumb.

            “What…what did this?” Percy asks, his voice shaky.

            “I agreed to tell you if I were bitten,” Nico says, keeping his voice low, “not scratched.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been making some sketches of what, like, these leather sleeves and stuff might look like because i'm a mega dork (though the drawing's aren't great, they're just demonstrative) so i might add links to those soon
> 
> also some crappy doodles of post-apocalyptic percy and neeks cos, as mentioned previously, i am a mega dork


	12. Cleft's a Little Wacky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy's nerves are fried. Nico's tired. Cleft is metaphorically trigger happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS SUPER SHORT AND I'M SORRY I'LL MAKE IT UP TO YOU GUYS TOMORROW I SWEAR
> 
> Not too much happens here but ey 
> 
> You know how it is

           

Percy’s totally flustered now.  He scoots away from Nico, his back against the wall, and stares at him disbelievingly.  His hand is scrambling for one of his weapons. “Wh-why didn’t you tell me you’d been scratched?”

            Nico rolls his eyes. “I’m a secret agent for the zombies, Percy.  This a conspiracy.”

            “I’m serious!”

            Another eye roll. “I didn’t even notice it until when I woke up in the car.  You were asleep, I didn’t wanna wake you.  I still don’t even know if it was a _scratch_ from one of the zombies or if it’s just from something else.” He shrugs a little. “Nothing’s happened to me yet, so…”

            “ _Yet._ ”

            “You act like it’s the first time I’ve been scratched,” Nico mutters, a sneer on his face.

            Percy blinks.

            “What?  Haven’t you been scratched before?”

            Percy shakes his head.

            “Oh.  Well, uh…” Nico squirms uncomfortably. “It’s happened to me a few times before.” He leaves some of his thoughts unspoken. _Like, for instance, right before we were supposed to be admitted into one of your camps._

            “And you aren’t dead?”

            “Do we have to do the heart thing again?  No, I’m very much alive.” Nico hugs himself. “So if you could _please_ stop threatening to kill me, that’d be great.”

            Percy realizes Riptide is back in his hand and reddens a little, lowering it. “S-sorry.”

            “Mm.” Nico closes his eyes.  He’s tired of talking with Percy.  It’s emotionally exhausting on a regular day, but throw in confrontation and machetes and, boom, he’s plum tuckered after just a few minutes.  He yawns and starts curling up into his neat little ball on top of a clump of blankets. “I’m going to sleep.  Make sure I don’t transform into some bloodthirsty cannibal, ‘kay?”

            He doesn’t catch what Percy has to say as he drifts off.  He dreams of a perfect life.  Of Bianca, alive and smiling.  Of their mother, speaking quickly in Italian and whipping together a massive dinner.  Of a safe haven that would accept him.  Of a Percy who would accept him, a Percy he was able to be scared around.  A Percy who would hold him when he needed it, who would nuzzle him and stroke his hair and, maybe maybe maybe, even kiss him occasionally. 

            He dreams of sweetness and of innocence.  Two things unattainable.

 

            Percy sits up, watching him for as long as he can bear.  The cut on Nico’s hand is dark red and relatively deep.  Percy can tell it needs to be cleaned.  If it isn’t, infection will set in (if, of course, infection of another sort hadn’t already started).

            Percy sighs.  He stands, leaving the room quietly and starting down the hall.  Cleft is still awake and, even if Percy doesn’t think he’s the cat’s pajamas, he’s better than no conversation at all.

            Percy offers him a genial smile and takes a seat in one of the mismatched chairs across from him.  Cleft nods and grins, his teeth an incomplete set. “Couldn’t sleep?”

            The younger shrugs. “I…I guess, yeah.”

            Long story short, Percy collapses under pressure and tells Cleft the current situation. 

            Cleft, stroking his scraggly beard and nodding along, responds as you might expect. “You oughta shoot ‘em.”

            Percy shakes his head. “No, I can’t do that, what if—”

            Cleft shakes his heads. “No ‘what if’s, boy.  He’s nothin’ but trouble at this point.  You gotta do what’s right.  Pull an Ole Yeller.”

            Percy’s a little revolted. “N…no, sir, I don’t think that’s what needs to be done—”

            “Son,” Cleft says, leaning forward.  Percy’s struck by just how bad his breath is. “Who knows best?”

            “…I…do?”

            Cleft’s not too pleased. “Son, I have survived this hellstorm for six whole months—”

            “As have I.”

            “—by doin’ nothin’ but acting on _my own_ best interest.  You wanna get dead?  Act his behalf.  See how that treats ya.”

            Percy’s got about a dozen smart alec responses cued up, but he’s cut off by a shuffling in the hall.  He hopes for a long second that what he’s hearing is the scramble of rats, but he knows rats aren’t heavy enough to be making those kinds of sounds.

            Nico shuffles out, his head bowed a little, his hurt hand held to his temple.  He’s swaying slightly, a soft groan on his lips.  Percy can’t see his face to tell if he’d turned or not.

            Percy goes rigid.  Cleft grabs Nico’s pipe from off the table and rushes forward.

            Nico looks up just in time to gasp.


	13. A Moral Dilemma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nico's head hurts. Cleft shows his true intentions. Percy struggles inwardly. Nico does something else aside from have a hurt head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D I'll probably update again later woo

            It happens so fast Percy nearly misses his chance to act.  The pipe grazes Nico’s head as Percy pile-drives into Cleft’s side.  Unfortunately, given Cleft’s weight, this only causes the massive man to stumble and causes Percy to be trapped against him by a meaty arm.

            Nico’s holding the gash on his temple, his bright eyes wide and very, very alive, as he tries to make sense of the situation.  The pipe has clattered to the ground and is now rolling lazily back and forth over the filthy floor.

            Cleft is heaving Percy out of his way.  He scrambles for the knife at his belt as Percy stumbles to his feet. 

            Nico’s mind races.  He has a few options.  He can try to summon a few zombies, but that would only work as a distraction.  There’s no way they’d be able to get in to deal with Cleft for him.  And, plus, that plan could only work if there are any zombies in earshot and he doubts that there would be.  They hadn’t seen any since they’d left the highway.  It was like Cleft worked as a repellant (of not only zombies, but people and good ideas as well). 

            The pipe would be the only option at this point.  When he moves to grab it, he stumbles and has to catch himself.  A wave of dizziness washes over him.  He internally grumbles.  The head wound must be worse than he originally thought.

            Percy’s back to his feet, his arms out.  Apparently, when he’d actually _needed_ Riptide, he’d left it in the room.  Nico reminded himself to give him hell about that later.

            For now, Percy swooped down to pick up the pipe and held it up defensively.  Cleft, swaying, steps forward, Bowie knife clasped in his hand.

            Nico glares at him from under Percy’s arm.  He’s seeing double.

            Percy shepherds Nico back protectively, eyes set on Cleft. “What if he weren’t infected, huh?  What if he were completely healthy?  Y-you would be a murderer!”

            Nico is bursting with enthusiasm that Percy is already treating him like a dying person.

            Cleft smiles that checker-board smile of his. “If he woulda died, been healthy, I woulda just had myself a whole fresh stockpile o’ meat for the winter.”

            “I think you’re overestimating the amount of meat on my bones,” Nico grumbles, hugging himself.

            Cleft tilts his head to the side slightly. “Mayhap I am, little fella.  Looks like I’ll have to add your friend to the supply as well.”

            He swiped his knife at Percy.

            This appears as moral dilemma to Percy.  He’s never actually killed a human being before (one who _wasn’t_ on the verge of changing, that is) and the thought of doing so is repulsive to him.  The guilt that would accompany such an action would be overwhelming.  And, even though Cleft is just a slightly more intelligent version of the corpses outside, Percy isn’t sure he can bring himself to go through with it.  He can try knocking him out, but that isn’t as easy as the movies make it look.  There is no gauge on his strength.  No lever that stopped at _GENTLE TAP, KNOCK-OUT_ and _DEATH SHOT_.  

            He’d have to try to knock him out without killing him.

            Percy swallows, his eyes stuck on Cleft’s face.  His ADHD was kicking in.  Focusing was becoming impossible.

            Nico’s breathing is odd behind him.

            Cleft is holding the knife in a manner that suggests stabbing.

            Cleft’s face is red.  He’s embarrassed and angry.  Nico probably played a role in the former.

            Percy’s mind is working a million miles a minute.  Stabbing would be ineffective in this case.  Cleft would have to be more precise than he probably would be in his current disgruntled state.  Percy would be able to dodge and weave better than Cleft given his sinewy build.  He’d be able to avoid an attack until Cleft is breathing hard enough for him to get in a strike. 

            But then there’s Nico.  Why is he breathing so strangely?  For a terrifying moment, Percy feels a squeeze on his heart.  What if he’s changing _right now?_ His back is to him.  He is unprotected.  His sleeves aren’t even on. 

            No, no.  He isn’t wheezing, he’s just breathing unevenly.  That can mean a lot of things.  Maybe his head just hurts?  Percy decides to go with that.  The alternative is too terrifying.

            Cleft swipes forward, bringing his knife down on the air where Percy’s shoulder was a second before.  Nico scrambles to keep up with Percy, ducking behind him and trying to stop the topsy-turvy state of his mind.  He wants to lie down so bad.  Lie down and puke.

            Percy angles himself correctly to deliver a firm strike to Cleft’s ribs.  The pipe hits with a liquidy crackle.  Cleft’s face distorts in pain and fury.  He grabs the pipe and twists it out of Percy’s hand with unconquerable strength. 

            Percy pales.

            Nico leans against the wall, nursing his head, and yells, “If any of you deadass shits are out there, get in here _now!_ ”

            About a second later, a furious scratching starts against one of the windows.  There’s only one zombie, an old woman in a pink plaid frock, but she’s enough to unsettle Cleft.  Meanwhile, Percy picks Nico up and races down the hall with him.  He slides into the room they’d been sharing and presses his back to the door, setting Nico down on the ground.

            “G-get me my machete,” he says, Cleft roaring down the hall toward them.  The old woman is hissing and clawing her way passed the 2x4s on the windows. 

            Nico crawls to their nest and digs around for the machete.  Cleft’s slamming his shoulder against the door by now.

            Nico’s fighting to keep his last meal down.  His vision is still hazy, his ears picking up an eerie ring.  His hands find the .9 mm before they do the machete.  He tosses it to Percy, muttering an apology before sinking into the blankets.  He retches.

            Percy stares at the gun in his hands.  He only has a few seconds at best to decide what to do.  He can shoot the guy to kill or just wound him and know that, eventually, he would bleed out and die.  No matter what, there was no way all three of them were making it out of this situation.

            He sighs softly.  He knows what he’s got to do, though it weighs on him.

            “Nico.”

            He looks up from the small puddle he’d spat up on one of the sheets.  His eyes are unfocused. “M-mm?”

            “Get against the wall.”

            Nico pulls himself that way painfully.  He slumps against it and closes his eyes, breaths coming shallowly.

            Percy takes a deep breath and steps away from the door, pivoting sharply and aiming the gun around where Cleft’s head would soon be.

            Cleft bursts through the door, red and wild, and has only a second to marvel at the gun before Percy, glancing away, pulls the trigger.

 

            Percy collects their belongings and a surgical tube from the stash of garbage in the back of the cabin before starting out.  He carries Nico, his weight upsettingly little, frame fragile against his side.  Nico’s conscious, but barely.  The wound on his head has stopped bleeding.  His face is streaked with maroon lines.  He buries his face in Percy’s neck.  Nico’s not worried about being afraid in front of him anymore.  He’s earned his fear.

            Percy carries him back to the road.  He sets him back down in the passenger seat of the car and says softly, “We’ll rest for the night, all right?  Then we’ll get some more gas and get going, okay?”

            Nico nods a little and murmurs something.  He sinks back into the seat.  Percy knows he can’t let him sleep, not with a head wound, so he sits up with him for a few hours, leaning against the steering wheel and trying not to think about the events of the day.  He killed a person today.  A crazy, cannibalistic, homicidal person, but a person nonetheless.

            He doesn’t think about it.  He has Nico talk to him.

            “D’you remember me?” he says eventually, wiping at the dried blood on the side of his face.

            Percy raises a brow. “Uh.  From what?”

            “School,” Nico yawns, eyes hooded. “’Member, you kept some bullies from beating the crap out of me…” Nico smiles uninhibitedly, clearly not back to normal yet. “Kep’ me safe.”

            Percy allows himself a little grin. “I think I remember that.” He has no idea what he is talking about, but he feels it’s better to go along with it than to split hairs.

            Nico giggles— _giggles_ —and Percy is struck for the second time by just how precious this boy is.  Beneath all the doom and gloom and zombie summoning, he’s just a ray of sunshine.

            “G-good,” Nico says one he’d composed himself. “M’ glad.  That was when I first realized…” He breaks down into giggles again.

            “Realized what?” Percy asks, a good-natured smile on his face.

            “Realized just how amazing you are!” Nico puts a hand over his mouth and cackles into it. “Y-you’re amazing, Percy.”

            This is doing no good for Percy’s ego.

            “You’re pretty amazing yourself, Nico.”

            Nico snickers. “You’re just…such a good, good person, Percy…I just…” He scratches at his nose absently and lays his head on Percy’s shoulder. “I-I just love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> C:


	14. The Boys Visit Walgreens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annabeth meets some unfortunate foes. Percy contemplates the conundrum of feelings. Nico finds out that zombies poop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure what happened here but

            Annabeth crouches in one of the camp’s makeshift huts.  There’s a scratching on the wall, followed by an agitated hiss-screech.  Something throws itself against the walls.  The hut shutters. 

            “I’ve never seen any like this,” she murmurs to Piper, keeping her baseball bat clutched in a white-knuckled grip toward the door.

            Piper shakes her head a little, choppy hair in her face. “There’s definitely something different about them.  It’s like they’re…stronger…”

            Annabeth nods in affirmation.  She presses her back against the wall as the hiss grows louder.  The tin walls tremor.  The hut won’t last much longer.

            Taking a steadying breath, Annabeth says, “When the walls give, we head toward the mess hall and rendezvous with Jason and Leo.  We hold down the mess hall at all costs.  Okay?”

            Piper nods, trembling. “Okay.”

            Moments later, the walls cave.

 

            Percy spent all morning siphoning gas (choking on most of it) through the stolen surgical tube in order to semi-successfully fill the tank halfway.  Nico watched after him, rubbing his temples and sipping on water from one of their jugs all the while.  He still wasn’t feeling 100%, but he could at least remember things better now.  The entire evening beforehand was a complete blur.  He vaguely remembers chatting with Percy, though about what he has no idea.  Percy had let him lay his head on his shoulder, which gave Nico a little warm burst of happiness unlike he’d felt in a long time. 

            He remembers a few other little warm, happy moments, but he can’t quite make sense of them.  His head is throbbing today, but he’s glad to be lucid.

            Percy seems troubled.  Almost ashamed.  He won’t look Nico in the eye, no matter how much Nico smalltalks and tries to be lighthearted.  Percy keeps his eyes everywhere but on him.  It admittedly hurts a little.

            Percy just isn’t sure what to make of what Nico had said the evening before.  He’s not sure whether or not the confession had been made from the heart or from the throes of mild brain damage.  Percy was leaning more towards the latter for his own peace of mind.

            Nico wets his lips and shifts uncomfortably in his seat.  His head and hand throb horribly.  He keeps his eyes set on the map in his lap. “Take a left up here.  We need to restock,” he says, his voice soft.  He’s terrified he’s done something to anger Percy.  Why else would he be acting so aloof?

Percy’s eyes are locked on the road.  He nods a little and takes the exit.  There’s a small, rundown town just off the highway.  Percy’s struck by how quickly zombies begin to migrate toward them.  He grumbles and starts down the road before they can touch the car and begins looking for anywhere that hasn’t been obviously looted.

Nico glances around, rubbing his arm. “Are you mad at me?”

            Percy blinks and glimpses toward him. “Huh?  What?”

            “Are.  You.  Mad.  At me?”

            Percy scratches at his wrist. “No, no.  Of course not…”

            “Really?  ‘Cos you aren’t really talking to me.”

            “Am too.”

            Nico rolls his eyes. “Well, _now_ you are.”

            Percy swerves a little to avoid hitting a zombified teenager.

            Nico held onto the side of the car. “You’ve just, I dunno, been kinda avoiding me today.  I just want to be sure I didn’t, like, offend you.  Or something.”

            Percy lifted a shoulder noncommittally. “Not _offended_ , no.  Just…you said some weird stuff last night.”

            Nico catches on instantly.  He doesn’t remember his exact words, but he knows if he tries hard enough, he can probably BS his way out of the potentially inevitable awkward conversation coming.

            “I must’ve gotten hit really hard,” he comments, raising his brows a little.  He watches out the window with intensity not unlike Percy’s.

            Percy offers a weak chuckle. “Guess so.” He swerves again and almost sends them into the side of another car.

            “You’ll have to fill me in later,” Nico rushes, gesturing over to a pharmacy. “That place looks good.”

            Percy nods a little and pulls up.  A cashier with a puddle of drool covering his shirt comes stumbling out to meet them.  The bite wound on his shoulder is rotting.

            As Nico speaks up, telling the cashier off through the window with colorful language, Percy considers what to tell him later.  He still wasn’t sure how he felt about Nico’s whole confession the night before.  Most of it seemed genuine, but the love thing?  Maybe not so much.  Percy tries to make sense of the tugs and tweaks in his gut as he thinks of the warm pressure of Nico’s head on his shoulder, of the soft drawl of his voice, the way it dripped affection around the L-word. 

            It isn’t necessarily love Percy’s feeling, but in the midst of mild discomfort and nervousness he’s absolutely experiencing, he can pick out definite strains of mutual affection.  The anxious, pining squishiness in the pit of his belly is a feeling Percy knows, though he won’t even admit it to himself.  It’s the start of a crush.

He’s not sure what to say to Nico about that, though, given all of what he’d said before could’ve just been drabble.

            And then there was the whole Annabeth thing.  Percy didn’t even want to think about that—it added too much anxiety to the whole situation.  It was hard enough juggling emotions for _one_ person, much less two.

            He’d think on that later.  For now, he has too much to deal with.

            Nico’s gotten out of the car and is violently sassing the cashier, expressing his Italian heritage through vehement hand gestures loud enough to silence anything and everything.  Even silence a zombie from hissing at him.

            It just stares at him, its mouth slightly agape, hands hanging loosely at its sides.

            “Now, tell me,” Nico says, nodding back to the store, “are any of your buddies in there?  If we go inside, are we going to be met with any kind of nastiness like you?”

            Cashier does not offer any response.

            Nico scowls at him and kicks him in the stomach.  Cashier goes down like a ton of bricks.  It doesn’t even resist when Nico slams the pipe into his head.  He sighs and shoves a gloved hand through his hair.  Blood decorates his cheek.

            Percy steps over Cashier (after a quick double-tap to ensure maximum deaditude) and wipes Nico’s cheek with the tail of his shirt. “Careful.  That gets in your mouth, you’re a goner.”

            Nico raises his brows apathetically. “Gee, do you think?”

            Percy rolls his eyes and glances around. “They’ll notice us here in a few minutes, I’d bet.  We need to hurry.”

            “Well if that’s what you think is best.”

            “ _Come onnn_ ,” Percy says, grinning.  He steers Nico into the Walgreens where a couple of other zombies are milling about.

            Nico frowns at them. “Go get us some gasoline from the Shell Station.” He has no idea where the Shell Station is.

            The two exchange glances and stumble outside.  Percy forces the door shut behind them. “That’ll keep them busy for a little while,” he concludes, wiping his hands on his jeans.

            Nico nods and checks out the rest of the station, making sure they didn’t have any unpleasant surprises waiting for them.  He finds one.

            “Oh, man, careful around the freezer section.” He pinches his nose.

            Percy raises a brow. “Why?  What’s wrong?”

            “Nothing’s ‘wrong’, per say, but I think one of those guys I just sent off voided their bowels here.”

            “Cute.”

            “Not from this angle.”

            Percy snickers and starts filling plastic bags with stale crackers and overwarm sticks of beef jerky.  They decide to collect the water bottles from the beverage section, hoping they’ll be able to boil out whatever nastiness has started to grow in them.

            In addition, they raid the first aid section.  Nico gratefully snags a few Tylenol for the throbbing in his head while Percy fills a bag with hand sanitizer, bandages, rubbing alcohol, antibiotics (just in case one of them gets Normal Sick), and a few tiny bottles of iodine.  He remembers Annabeth’s directions on how to purify water with iodine perfectly and hopes he grabs enough to last a while.

            They both manage to avoid stepping in the zombie crap.

            By the time they finish, there’s at least six dead fellas pushing at the once-automatic doors.  Their faces smear against the Plexiglas. 

            Nico hefts some of the lighter stuff onto his back and gazes out at them. “Okay, guys, head home.  We don’t want you here.”

            A few of them shuffle off disjointedly.  Percy taps his foot.  He wants out of the confined Walgreens and into the confined car.

            Two of the zombies are poking around the confined car.

            Nico grimaces. “You want me to talk with them or do you just want to charge out there all gung-ho and collect the groceries after we’re done?”

            Percy puts the bags on cashier’s desk. “Gung-ho forever.”

            “Hell yeah.”

            Nico offers his pipe and Percy clinks Riptide against it. “Cheers.”

            “Cheers.”

            Nico talks the zombies away from the door as Percy pulls it open, but it’s clear his powers of persuasion are weighing on him.  He’s getting tired and his words are slowly losing effect on them.  They gnaw at the bit to get to Percy.

            He takes two out rather easily, working (reluctantly) in silence.  Nico does his best to follow his example, but ends up grunting each time he swings his pipe.  He’s too weary not to.

            Percy clears the two from the car. “Can you hold off any who come along while I get the stuff?”

            Nico nods earnestly.  He wakes himself up a little.  When it comes to Percy, he’ll exhaust himself to the point of unconsciousness if it means keeping him safe.

            He waits by the door as Percy collects all their supplies and hurries with him toward the car.  There’re already a few zombies headed their way.

            Percy tosses the stuff into the backseat and tries to start the engine.  It peters out three times before springing into life. 

            Nico’s chanting something to him from the passenger’s seat, willing him to hurry up.  His fingers tap against his thigh fitfully.

            “Hurry!”

            “I’m hurrying!”

            “Well, hurry faster!”

            Percy grumbles as they take off, one of the zombies slapping a hand down on the trunk as they pull out.  Percy does his best not to, but eventually he hits one of the stragglers.  The car groans in protest to this kind of abuse.

            They’re back onto the highway in no time with a horde of Deadies following them.  By the time they’re down the exit ramp, the horde has lost interest and go back to milling about along the side of the road.

 

            Nico digs through the glove compartment as Percy drives, grinning a little when he finds a CD.  He force-feeds it to the player and lays his head back as the music cranks out of the crappy speakers.

            Percy, who usually isn’t a fan of this genre, even enjoys it.  It’s been so long since he’s heard any music at all that even this sounds heavenly to him.

            As they listen, Nico leans back and yawns. “So,” he says, watching the horizon’s Creamsicle-orange marshmallow clouds with a look of melancholy whimsy on his face, “what all did I say last night?”

            Percy shifts in his seat a little.  He tugs at his leather sleeves with one hand and rakes his teeth over his bottom lip. “Well, most of it was just, like, talking about the Before and everything.  School and stuff.”

            “Ohh,” Nico says, nodding. “So I told you about Mythomagic?” He didn’t think his pre-apocalypse dorkiness would cause Percy this much discomfort.

            “Mytho-what?”

            Nico reddens a little.  He didn’t tell Percy, but while at the pharmacy he’d snagged a couple of packs of Mythomagic cards from the kids’ section.  It was something familiar to hold onto in their turbulent reality, even if it _was_ nerdy as all get out.

            “Nothing.  What were you saying?”

            “Well, it’s just…you said something really weird like _about_ me.”

            Nico blanches now. “Did I?”

            “Yeah, uh.” Percy’s losing his nerve. “There’s no way it wasn’t just the concussion talking, though.  No worries.”

            Nico nods a little.

            The two speed along, their ears full of static-y music and their throats full of unspoken words about unspoken feelings neither of them want to come clean about.

            It’s all very somber until the car breaks down.  


	15. FEELINGS.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nico and Percy dabble in the "feelings" zone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys deserve some sweetness ;D 
> 
> ALSO  
> LOOK AT THIS EXCELLENT ART  
> https://24.media.tumblr.com/af3bf38293a5039315bd3888b315474d/tumblr_n5bv8luxj21rnguvko1_1280.png
> 
> I'M NOT TOTALLY SURE OF YOUR URL, BUT YOU'RE INCREDIBLE AND YOU MADE MY WEEKEND LIKE HOLY HELL
> 
> ANyways. 
> 
> I kind of indulged my love for classical music with Vivaldi's "Four Seasons" here so if you're wondering what all the references are meant to sound like, here's a link https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GRxofEmo3HA (Summer is my personal favorite btw) 
> 
> And the blush Beethoven is https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nT7_IZPHHb0
> 
> Enjoy!

            Percy isn’t quite sure how to fix whatever problem has wheedled its way into the engine.  Something’s smoking in there and he can’t quite pinpoint what.  It’s not really his day.

            Nico sits on top of the car, keeping look out as he tangles with an uncooperative engine.

            “You almost done?”

            “Honestly, I haven’t even started yet.”

            “Great,” Nico murmurs.

            After about an hour, it becomes apparent that the car has been rendered useless.  Percy grumbles as they clear out of it, stuffing their belongings in the suitcase and his backpack as quickly as possible.  They’ve already stayed in one place for too long.

            Nico makes a bag out of a blanket and some rope and ties it around his back.  Percy insisted he take the lighter things, as well as a few bottles of water and iodine (just in case they got separated).  Nico didn’t argue.  His entire body still felt weak—whether it was from the head wound or the cut on his hand, he wasn’t sure.  He sips at some water nervously. 

            Percy tugs the suitcase out of the backseat and closes the door with a little too much gusto.  Nico flinches at the slam and scans the highway for anything that might’ve heard.  Luckily, nobody’s come staggering forward.

            They start off, Nico juggling the map, Percy toting their heavy supplies.

            As Percy walks, he thinks about Before.  He remembers long, rainy days in the city, the smell of street vendors’ wares, the delicious blue cake his mom always made him on his birthdays.  He even misses school.  He misses the social aspect, the constant chatter of people, the bickering of machines outside.  Things are so different now.  Everywhere is silent.

            He misses being able to swim.  He hadn’t been able to since the plague broke out.  Lakes aren’t even an option, because you never knew what was stumbling around under the surface.  He misses being surrounded by water.  Being able to duck underneath it and virtually enter a different world.  The whole experience fills him with thick longing he has to shut down before it overcomes him.

            Nico looks up at the sky and shoves his hands into his pockets.  He thinks back to his Before as well, basking in the wonder of the music that always filled his house.  Whether it was his own music, Bianca’s, or his mother’s consistent, melodious classical, there was always some form of the stuff floating throughout the air.  He misses his mother’s music the most.  He didn’t understand the significance of any of the songs, notice the emotion packed into them until now, when they were utterly unavailable to him.  His life has gone from Vivaldi’s Autumnto Winter, dipping sporadically into Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata.  His world revolves around fierceness and misery. 

Percy is Summer.  He is vigorous.  He is speed and exhilaration.  He is excitement and the shrill of violins, the enthusiastic tremble of bass.  But at the same time, he is daunting.  He is the rumble of the brass section, the low yowl of cellos.  He exists both in the high points of Nico’s mind and the low, making notes hit their peeks and somehow plummet to a new depth in unison. 

            The whole thing is dizzying.

            He glances over at Percy now and feels his heart twist up.  Percy’s face, angular and sun-kissed, is pinched in concentration.  His dark brows are knit together, the bridge of his perfect nose scrunched up.  Black hair falls over his forehead in sweaty claws.  The muscles of his neck at tight.

            Nico watches the road in front of them again.  He doesn’t want to be caught staring.  Especially if he’d already done something to put Percy off.

            The sun’s beginning to retreat behind the horizon, but it still bakes down on them.  Nico’s sweating heavily, but refuses to remove his jacket.  His arms as so covered with his own nail marks that he’s sure Percy would be too disturbed to be around him.  He’d leave him out here, alone once again, and head back to his camp.  It would be the straw to break the camel’s back.  So Nico kept his hands tucked away in his jacket sleeves.

            Percy gnaws on beef jerky as they walk.  He can feel a sort of tension growing between them, though of what sort, he wasn’t sure.

            Nico knows it is sexual tension.

            Percy just can’t put his finger on it.

            He makes himself focus on the Annabeth but discovers with a start that her features have begun to blur in his mind’s eye.  He remembers the basics.  The curly blonde hair, the gray eyes, the slender yet muscular build.  But how did her nose turn up?  Did she have think brows or thin ones?  Did she keep her nails long or short?  Ears pierced or no?  How much space was there between her bottom lip and her chin?

            He just can’t remember.  The harder he tries, the more distorted the image becomes.  He curses himself for not remembering to bring along his picture of her.  It was back at camp, in the hut he and his family shared with Jason and his sister, Thalia.  Thalia was rarely “home”, however.  She and a group of other girls (they referred to themselves as the Hunters) left camp regularly.  They were on a sort of self-ordained mission to destroy as many of the undead as possible.  For a while, Annabeth had entertained the idea of joining them, but that would’ve meant cutting ties with everyone but family at camp.  Percy had talked her out of it.

            Percy gets lost in thought of Annabeth’s voice.  What had it sounded like, again?  Was it high-pitched or low?  Was it nasally?  Did she have an accent?  He just couldn’t remember.  It’s only been about four weeks and he’s already forgetting about her.  Percy feels horrible.

            Nico sways a little next to him.  He’s got a hand on his head, his eyes closed.  The events of earlier that day were clearly wearing on him.

            Percy spies out a little run-down warehouse off the road a ways and starts that way.  He figures they shouldn’t stop for the night, but that at least a few hours would be good for Nico.  The last thing he needs is a drowsy zombie whisperer to have to carry around on top of everything else.

            Nico holds onto the back of Percy’s shirt as they walk in.  Percy holds the pitchfork out, the prongs aimed forward.  Nico whispers softly to the floor as the go.

            “If any of you are in here, leave.  We don’t want you to be with us.  Stay away.”

            A few zombies shuffle by them, heading for the door.   stopping for a moment to sniff at Percy.  He does his best to keep moving, but it’s difficult.  Their breath is yeasty and coppery.  It is ice cold and flows in shallow, quick pulls.

            One pauses a little too long.  Nico bristles. “Get _out_.”

            It snorts at Percy and shuffles back toward the door.  Nico hurries back to shut it out, then reclaims his spot behind Percy, grabbing his shirttail again, and following him into the darkness of the warehouse.

            It’s completely silent around them.  The only sounds are their footfalls and the occasional shift as the worn building settles on its foundations.  It’s mostly empty—whatever was stored there before had been looted a while ago.  At least, they assume so given the thick dust waltzing around their feet in fluffy, snowy flurries.

            By Percy’s dull flashlight, they struggle their way over toppled boxes and spilled wares to the side wall.  Percy yawns a little and glances up at the ceiling.  Rust has corroded holes up to the size of baseballs in the metal roof.  Percy can see the stars peeking shyly in at them through the spots of sky.  He smiles a little.  In a decrepit sort of way, it’s beautiful.

            Nico plops down by the wall and covers his mouth with his hands before yawning massively.  Percy sits beside him and opens a pack of Saltines to share.  Gratefully, Nico grabs a little more than half and starts nibbling through them.

            Percy grins and takes a bite of one. “How can you be so bony if you eat so much?”

            Nico watches the ground for a long moment. “Well…” He doesn’t want to go into it.  Surely, Percy doesn’t want to hear about his Before, about his trouble with eating.  Surely, he doesn’t want to know that he only eats as much as he does because Bianca insisted he do so.

            “There is no way we’re going to survive the zombie apocalypse if you go off and die just because you’re hungry.  Now, eat,” she’d said.  That was only a few days before she went off to find more food for him.  Told him to stay safe in the upper rooms of a hotel, to meet her back at Central Park as soon as four days had passed.  It had almost hit eight days by the time Percy found him there.

            Nico looks up at Percy now and grins sheepishly. “Fast metabolism?”

            Percy nods a little and smiles in his lopsided way, but doesn’t buy it.  He doesn’t press Nico into further explanation.  He just leisurely enjoys his crackers as Nico inhales his.

            “Hey,” he says, after a few long moments of silence.

            Nico looks up, his eyes like saucers. “Yes?”

            Percy focuses on his hands. “Do you remember any of what you said last night?” The words “last night” feel odd on his tongue.  He thinks that, if he didn’t know any better, “last night” could’ve been a year ago.

            Nico reddens a little.  A small burst of something like confidence is wiggling its way into his chest. “No, but I can imagine it wasn’t great.”

            Percy grins a little, still watching his hands. “‘Great’ depends on perspective.”

            “Does it?”

            “Yeah.”

            “And, based on your perspective, is what I said ‘great’?”

            Percy pauses a long moment before responding.  He looks up at Nico, starlight playing games in the shifting seas of his eyes, and says simply, “Yes.”

          

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D:D:D:D


	16. Percy Does Something Not So Smart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nico's a badass (as usual). C'mon, Percy. Wow other people? Whoa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a really short chapter just because it's been a really, really horrible day so I'm sorry it's not great but like it's the best I can do for right now
> 
> Tomorrow might be the same, I won't know until the afternoon. 
> 
> I hope you guys like it, though! I promise better content soon. ^^

            Annabeth ties her hair up and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.  The survivors are tucked away safely in the mess hall and, sadly, she notices it’s not nearly as full as it should be.  Jason, Piper, and Hazel are going around, trying their best to soothe those wailing in the masses.  Frank is sniping from the roof, but he’s already running low on arrows.  Leo’s working to secure the walls with the limited supplies given.  He’s still grinning like an imp and cracking jokes, but his eyes are broken and miserable. 

            Something’s scrambling up the wall.  Annabeth pauses. “Since when can they climb?”

 

            When Nico awakes a few hours later, his head is on Percy’s shoulder.  Percy’s still out, his breaths coming in soft, silent puffs.  Nico grins a little and presses closer to his side.  Something, somewhere, is wheezing and hissing, but Nico’s still half-asleep.  He won’t be capable of caring about it for another fifteen minutes, at least.

            He tucks his face into the crux of Percy’s neck and enjoys his warmth, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the smell about him that always manages to be that of a fresh, ocean breeze.  He listens to his breathing, the thud of his heart, and begins to be drawn back to sleep.

            Wheezewheezewheeze.

            There’s that wheezing again.  It’s coming from his far left.  So far left that he doesn’t even care about it.

            He worms closer.  Percy murmurs something and puts his head back.

            Hisshisshiss.

            Nico curses softly and looks up.  What’s rude enough to be making such a racket while he’s trying to sleep?  Ah, yes.  The rudest of the rude.  The undead.

            He jerks himself awake and looks around the warehouse.  There’s a hole in the wall, one that they couldn’t have seen before in the darkness.  Now dawn light shines through it around the flailing form of a zombie’s midsection.  It only has one eye, which somehow makes it creepier, and it’s managing to chip away at the corrosion around it.  Nico realizes that, soon, it will be inside.

            He stands up and steps over Percy, glaring at the being protruding from the wall. “Get out of here!” he yells.  It doesn’t listen.  He sees another hand shoot in from somewhere around its midsection and realizes that the hissing is louder than he first thought.  The wheezing is all around him.  They had become surrounded while they slept.

            The creature in the wall was making it through rapidly.

            “Go away!” Nico’s voice squeaks.  His hands shake.  He can tell the horde outside is sizeable.  Maybe to a point where he can’t control them.  He shakes harder and nudges at Percy with his foot. “P-Percy.  Percy, get _up!_ ”

            Percy just murmurs something and shakes his head a little.

            Nico’s afraid what’ll happen if he turns his back on the hole. “Percy, get _up now!_ Come on, please!” He gropes for his pipe.  Eventually, he finds it and holds it, watching the hole in the wall widen as the creature forces its way in.

            Percy rubs his eyes a little and sits forward. “Wh…?”

            The hole gives way.  Three of the creatures come tumbling through.  They take only a moment to stand, swaying horribly and wheezing through their noses.

            Percy starts to get up.

            Six more come stumbling in.

            “G-get _back_ , damn it!  G-go away!” Nico screams as he takes a few stumbling steps forward.  One of them seems to obey at first, but the pack begins driving it forward with them.  The hunger for the kill drives them.  Nico can’t even break through to them.

            Percy’s pulling himself up by a metal shelf.  The top of the shelf is decked with boxes.  Percy doesn’t notice through the blur of sleep that the top heavy shelf is leaning in his direction until it topples over, raining boxes of something heavy on top of him.  Percy yelps as the shelf tops it all off, pinning him to the ground and tearing a new rift in the wall.

            Nico glances back at him and bites his lip.  The zombies are approaching even faster now. “Stay still,” he murmurs to Percy, standing firmly in front of him.

            “I don’t have much of a choice,” he mumbles back, wincing in pain.  He’s definitely at least fractured a rib.  For starts.  One of his arms is pinned under his chest, the other partially free.  A box prevents him from reaching his pitchfork.  Riptide is pressing hard against his thigh in its sheath.  He clenches his teeth in pain and shouts through them, “You can do this, Neeks!  You got this!” The weight on his chest is making it hard to breathe.

            Nico isn’t so sure.  The swarms aren’t listening to him, and he’s already used a good bit of strength trying to get them to.  The first one reaches him and he slams the pipe into its neck.  It staggers, then sets course for him once again.  Three more join around it.

            Nico’s breathing heavily.  He presses himself into the space between them and Percy and swings his pipe again, managing to nail one of them in the temple.  Another grabs him by the collar and lifts him to his mouth.  Percy’s tugging on his pant leg with all the strength he can thrust into his free arm, but it’s not doing much.  He releases a little strangled “no” and pulls harder.  

            A scowl settles on Nico’s face at the sound of Percy’s desperation.  He resolves he will _not_ leave him alone.  With more strength than he thought he had, he forces the pipe into its mouth and pulls down hard as it bites on it.  The decaying muscles of the jaw tear as he does.  And, just like that, he renders the creature useless.  A bout of wiggling sets him back to the ground in seconds and he’s preparing to fight with the growing horde again when he hears something.  Something both damning and rapturous at the same time.  The definite grumbling of engines from right outside.  He prays these survivors aren’t like Cleft.

            Seconds later, the place is swarmed in a human way.  Men and women in police guard armor charge in, ropes in some of their hands, guns in others.  In minutes, the hole is covered with boxes and shelves.  Half the zombies have ropes around their necks and in their mouths.  The other half lay for-real-dead on the floor.

            Nico watches in disbelief, keeping himself firmly stationed in front of Percy.  He’s not going to let _anything_ touch him if it means him any harm.  So until he has proof that these people are good guys, he decides to stay put.  His knees are weak.  Percy’s hold on his ankle tightens reassuringly.  And, for once, Percy keeps his mouth shut.  

            From the entryway comes one more person clad in guard armor.  She observes the creatures through the shield protecting her face and smiles. “These’ll be excellent specimens, I believe.”

            “Who’s that?” Percy whispers, tugging at Nico from under his pile of home décor boxes.  He wiggles to free himself.  

            Nico’s gaping. “I think those are the Underground Scientists we talked about earlier.”

            It’s then that they’re noticed.  The woman looks over at them and smiles in a way that does very little to warm the cockles of one’s heart. “These will be as well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> c:   
> i'll fit more cute stuff in later maybe probably  
> Feel free to leave suggestions and jazz 'cos lord knows I need them.


	17. The Boys Enjoy the Dog Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is like a pun but it's a really bad one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i could not sleep 
> 
> c:

            It takes a sedative to get Nico to stand down.  He’s slumped over against one of the guard guys as a few others dig Percy out from under the pile of debris.  Someone collects their weapons and pack them away from the flailing, injured boy’s reach.  The head honcho lady watches as they pile them both into the back of an armored vehicle.  Their hands are bound.  Percy’s questions are ignored.

            “Who are you people?”

            “What do you want from us?”

            “Why are you tying us up?”

            “Could you maybe stop manhandling him?”

            They ignore it all and force Percy into a dog kennel, which would’ve been darkly funny if it weren’t for the horrible smell rising from the floor of it.  It wasn’t unlike the smell of the zombie crap in the Walgreens, he realizes.  Immediately, he arches against the top of the crate and grimaces.

            Nico slouches against the floor of his cage, his face against the floor.  Percy watches him through the bars of his kennel.  Nico’s across a narrow aisle from him, looking not-so-great under the influence of tranquilizers. 

            Then something odd happens.  The people begin corralling the lassoed zombies into the back of the vehicle with them.  They’re forced into kennels of their own, the ropes in their mouths acting as muzzles.  Their hands, too, are bound.

Suddenly, Percy’s glad for the cage.

Soon enough the entire room is full of zombie breath and the distinct smell of rotting flesh.  Percy hears a few gunshots from outside the vehicle.  Then the back of the room is shut tight and they’re locked in semi-dark with probably a dozen zombies, an electric lantern and three men in full riot gear armed with submachine guns.

            Definitely not Percy’s idea of a good way to start the day.

            “Hey, so, I know this is presumptuous and all, but given you’ve put us up in these excellent rooms, I have to assume we’ll be treated to a 5-star breakfast as well.  Or did I read the pamphlet wrong?” Percy says, as some sort of goo from the zombie above him drips into his cage.

            His cage gets kicked.

            “That wasn’t very tasty,” he mutters. 

            “Shut up,” one of the men says, his voice thick with annoyance.  Percy felt at home with that tone.

            “Well _pardon me_ for expecting a Belgian waffle or two with this grade-A service.” Percy raises his brows challengingly.  The guards kick his cage again.  Percy winces, wishing he could hold his ribs, and tries to think of more ways to annoy them until he could come up with a way for them to get to safety.

            Nico grumbles a little across from him.  His eyes are starting to open, though he still looks totally aware of his surroundings.  Eventually, he notices the whole cage thing and panics.  He looks frantically from the zombies on either side of him to Percy across from him. “Wh-wh…”

            Percy shrugs a little. “Not sure, bud.”

            Nico closes his eyes tight a moment and regains little blushes of memory.  He feels a little exasperated.  First the scratch, then the head wound, now this?  He can’t catch a break this week. “Chew through the ropes,” he whispers, struggling to crouch on his knees.  Nico might’ve been shorter than Percy, but the kennels were just correctly sized to cause even him discomfort.  He winces as his head grinds against the topmost bars.

            The guards must not have been able to hear through their riot gear, because they make no move to stop the zombies from mechanically gnawing away at their muzzles.  Percy grins lopsidedly at Nico.  He mouths, “Good plan, di Angelo” to him and winks.

            Nico focuses on the bottom of his kennel because, despite the panic that goes along with the whole “Being in a Cage thing”, Percy Jackson just _winked_ at him.  It was like a dream come true (he didn’t aim much higher than recognition in even his most eager dreams).

            “Keep the ropes in your mouths,” he whispers again, this time even softer.  The zombies freeze, their ropes clasped tightly between their greening teeth.

            Nico slumps a little.  He’s clearly tired.  Percy bites his lip.  He’s not sure how long they’ll be toted around, so he can’t be sure if there’s enough time for Nico to nap before they need to make a break for it.  But, looking at Nico’s drowsy little face, he can’t help but stay quiet as he dozes off against the side of his cage.

            When the guards become preoccupied with muffled conversation, Percy works at sliding his hands under himself.  It’s difficult to do, especially with only the small link of rope between his wrists, but he eventually manages.

            He crouches on his haunches, his back pressed against the top of the cage, forearms on his thighs, and tries to listen to whatever the guards are saying.  He only catches a few words, but they’re enough.  “Cure”, “closer”, “experimentation”, “specimens”, and “live ones” are enough to tip him off that they’re not in the best of sorts.

            Nico’s still asleep as the vehicle rolls to a stop.  Percy hopes he’ll be awake enough to make a run for it by the time they’ve been released from their cages.  He gnaws on his lip.  His back is cramping up something fierce.  Kennels, he decides, are not his favorite places to spend lazy afternoons.

            Nico snorts as the vehicle stops, but does little else.  Percy swallows the dryness in his mouth and gazes at the floor.  He poses his hands to open the cage.

            The guards start releasing the zombies.  The first few make it out without incident.  Then they go for the two beside Nico.

            They keep the ropes in their mouths for about two full seconds.  Then, they decide to disobey Nico’s orders and latch onto the tough fabric covering over the guards’ necks.  Percy undoes his cage and shoots across the hall before he’s noticed by either the living or the dead and unlatches Nico’s cage.  He sort of rolls out of it, which doesn’t seem good.  Percy picks him up.

            “Wake up, Neeks!  Come on, bud, this is a bad time for a power nap.” He hoists him onto his shoulder as he grumbles awake, his brow pinching a little.

            “Di…did they chew thr…?  D-did I do it…?” he murmurs.

            “You did it.  Now I need you to continue doing it.  Please tell those nice zombies not to kill us.”

            “R…right.” Nico blinks himself awake and starts to lecture the zombies.

            Percy takes care of the humans.  While they’re preoccupied with the zombies, Percy shoves by them and grabs his worn machete from the haphazard pile of their weaponry left near the opening of the truck.  Nico slides down from his shoulders and reclaims his pipe, still encouraging the zombies to chow down on the guards.

            It’s a little amusing to watch, actually, because it’s obvious the guards can’t use those big guns in a metal room.  Any bullets fired would ricochet right off the walls and probably wound them more than anything else.  So the zombies keep drooling on their helmets and the guards keep pushing them away.

            Nico’s yelling at them now, leaning against the wall and doing his best to keep his voice from wavering. “Come on, guys, you’ve got more in you than that!  Bite their heads off!”

            The third guard, who was just returning from shepherding other zombies out, is promptly taken down by Percy.  He doesn’t kill him, as Percy is still feeling the guilt from Cleft’s death, but he does kick him out of the vehicle, stomp on his chest a few times (his own throbbing painfully all the while) and take his gun. 

            Nico tentatively leaps from the back of the trunk.  He stumbles, panting hard.  Percy sees he’s exhausted and picks him back up, straining himself. “Can you make this place chaotic for me?”

            Nico nods a little. “Eat everybody but me and my steed, deadies!” His voice wavers a little.  Percy accepts that he is now a steed.

            Percy darts through a crowd of zombies and confused guards, Nico’s weight and his own injuries slowing him down greatly.  He realizes, dismally, that he might not be able to get them out of there.

            And then it happens.  From somewhere in the trees flies an arrow.  It hits its mark with expert precision, sliding right through the small slats in one of the guards’ gear and cutting open his neck.  He falls and, instantly, another volley of arrows flies through the air.

            Percy smiles.  Laughs, even.  Because he knows he’s just been saved by a friend.  The only one he knows with that kind of sure shooting.

            He owes Thalia and her Hunters so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whAT is even happening in these chapters any more


	18. What's This?  A Gentle Moment?  Ludicrous!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy gets hurt. Thalia is a cool kitten. Nico lurks concernedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'VE GOTTEN SO MUCH POSITIVE FEEDBACK TODAY THANK YOU SO MUCH I REALLY NEEDED THAT ILY ALL 
> 
> ahh  
> IN OTHER NEWS   
> i swear to up the percico content soon heh
> 
> Fun fact: I updated when the Hits reached 1915 which is one away from 1916, which was a year that hosted a summer of crazy shark attacks like 4 people died  
> *~*the more you know*~*

            The Hunters work as a mass controlled by one mind.  Percy has no idea how they manage to work with such synchronization.  He watches in amazement as the girls on the ground skillfully disarm the guards while ones from the trees hit the weak points in their riot gear with unreal precision. 

            One of the girls grabs his arm and drags him out of the midst of the ruckus.  In her hand is a lighter, her thumb poised to ignite it.  As soon as they’re out of the clearing, she whistles shrilly and lights a patch of grass on fire.  The Hunters in the clearing book it to the trees and, just like that, they’ve disappeared into the forest.

            Percy’s just now getting a clear look at their surroundings.  The vehicles had rolled to a stop outside of a massive, moderately new building.  There was a large, fenced-in area next to the building that was filled to the brim with zombies.  All of them either wore muzzles or had their jaws broken.  They clawed at the weak points of the fence, pressing their faces up against them and groaning loudly.

            The guards left were scrambling about, trying to figure out what to do.  A few are firing wildly into the trees.  A couple Hunters come toppling from their perches.

            Percy feels a sharp pain in his upper arm, one sharp enough to make his vision twist and redden.  His knees feel weak under Nico’s weight.

            He regards his bicep for a moment, confirming that, yes, he is bleeding.  The pain is so sudden and so sharp that his mind can’t process it.  And, as sounds fade away, Percy veers and passes out. 

Nico bears the brunt of the fall.

           

            Dr. Josephine Bengele emerges from the inner hall of the “CDC 2.0” to review the carnage outside.  The fires are barely being maintained by their impromptu response crew.  She tucks her hands in her pockets. “Those two boys did all this?”

            One of her lesser stands at attention beside her, shaking slightly.  He’d been involved in the earlier chaos. “Yes, ma’am.”

            Bengele nods a little. “How?”

            “O-one of them, ma’am, he…he spoke to the dead.”

            She glances at him skeptically. “Did he?”

            “Yes, ma’am.”

            She looks back over the dead men and the muzzled zombies strolling aimlessly in the clearing and purses her lips.  If this boy commanded the dead, perhaps he had a connection to the disease they hadn’t discovered yet.  Perhaps this boy would lead to the cure. 

            “Bring him to me.”

 

            Thalia got a few girls to drag the boys away from the immediate danger of the fire.  Nico is still a little out of it, but manages to pull himself along mostly without assistance.  Percy’s coming around slowly.  The wound in his arm where the bullet nicked him was gushing.  One of the Hunters is assigned to stop the bleeding before it draws too much unwanted, undead attention.

            Thalia leads the group to their temporary base camp; the unloading zone behind an abandoned mall.  She runs her hand through her short, spiky hair and turns to her Hunters. “I need two of you working on Percy.” She waves them down before they can speak. “Percy as in the bigger of the two, yes.  I need another to be getting water into the littler one.  Chop-chop, girls.”

            After a bit of difficulty, the girls push Percy up onto the loading dock and begin cleaning off his arm.  He yelps and squeezes his eyes shut.  Who would’ve thought that just a little wound could hurt so much?  He bites his lip hard enough to draw blood and squirms unhelpfully.  The girl helping him groans in exasperation.

            “Could you be still?”

            “I-it huuuurts…”

            “If you want it to stop hurting, you have to stop moving.”

            “Wh-what?  N-n.”

            “It’ll get worse if you keep moving.”

            Percy throws his head back. “Th-that’s not even possible!”

            The Hunter looks down at Thalia with a face that cannot be interpreted as anything but “may I kill him please please pretty please”.  Thalia rolls her eyes and climbs up.  Percy barely recognizes her at first. 

            Thalia’s black hair is cut short and choppy, in a way that it won’t impede her aim.  Her skin’s taken on a rich tan that intensifies the icy blue of her eyes and deepens the freckles on her nose and cheeks.  Dirt and blood smear her all over.  The knees of her black jeans are torn and filthy.  Her tank top is splattered with blood and doused with sweat. 

            In a weird, dystopian-movie heroine, way, she’s stunning.

            She grabs Percy’s chin and has him look at her. “Listen, Percy,” she says, her tone not exactly warm and cozy, “if you don’t listen and let us help you out, I can guarantee you that little _scratch_ of yours will only get worse.  Got it?”

            Percy glares at her, but doesn’t question her.  After all, he owes her his life (until further notice).  Not to mention he’s outnumbered like thirty to one—two, if he can convince Nico to watch his back—so he’s really in no position to argue.

            So he does his best to remain still while the girl sanitizes his wound.  Through grit teeth, he asks, “How’d y-you guys find us?”

            Thalia’s taken to sharpening the naga kris from the sheath at her hip.  She snorts. “We weren’t looking for _you_.  We were following their caravan.”

            Percy winces as the girl introduces another bout of rubbing alcohol. “Wh-why?  I thought y-you Hunters only k-killed zombies.”

            Thalia grins a little, though there’s little genuine happiness in it. “We hunt monsters in general, Percy.  And those people are certainly monsters.”

            “I-I’ll say…” Percy murmurs. “Th-they put us in _dog crates!_ ”

            Thalia’s focused on her knife again.  She raises her brows apathetically and quirks a lazy grin. “That makes them heroes, not monsters, Percy.”

            He rolls his eyes and yelps as the Hunter begins sewing him up.

            “But, in all seriousness, they do things much worse than put stupid teenage boys like you in cages.”

            “I-I don’t see how that’s possible.”

            “Well, they run experiments on humans in order to find ‘cures’ for the virus.” She looks grim. “Honestly, I don’t think they’re even trying for that.  If anything, they’ve mutated it.”

            Nico, standing on his tiptoes, pokes his head up over the edge of the dock to listen.

            “What m-makes you think that?” Percy manages.  He muffles a shout by biting his lip.

            Thalia sighs dejectedly. “We lost a girl to them.  Another went in to try to help and, well…her report wasn’t too… _glowing_.  Plus, ever since we found out about them, we’ve noticed some changes in the zombies.”

            Nico pipes up. “Wh-what sort of changes?” He tries to pull himself up to sit with them, fails, and eventually, grouchily, is lifted up by Thalia.  He sits back against the wall across from Percy and brings his knees to his chest, mumbling about how he doesn’t like to be touched.

            “Well,” Thalia says, running her fingers along the knife’s blade, “they’ve gotten more, uh, tenacious.  A good bit faster, more determined, less responsive to injury.  It’s bad.” She wipes the sweat from her brow with a filthy bandana. “I guess Hollywood would call them ‘Rage Virus’ zombies.”

            “Splendid,” Nico mutters.  He wonders if, maybe, the mutated strand was why some of the zombies didn’t listen to him anymore.  If that were the case, they were in for some trouble. 

            The Hunter finishes working on Percy, leaving a fresh bandage and a whimpering teenager as the only outward evidence of injury.  She then proceeds to join some of the other Hunters in the back of a semi once used for furniture transportation.  They glare daggers at the boys from over the backs of plastic-wrapped love seats and dresser sets.

            Thalia dons the glare and nails them both with it. “You two owe us.  We lost too many girls and too much ammo today to save your sorry asses.”

            Percy scowls back. “Nobody a-asked you to.”

            Nico’s wondering how a rendition of _Why Can’t We Be Friends_ would be accepted right now.

            Thalia’s opening her mouth to verbally whoop the boy when thunder claps in the sky.  She grimaces. “Look.  You two are welcome to spend the night here, but after that, I expect you to be out of our hair.  I’ll collect you again when we need a favor.”

            Percy thinks that sounds like a line from _The Godfather_. “F-fine.”

            “Rest well.  Those people will be after you again.  Soon.  You’ve chosen a bad enemy to make,” Thalia says, giving them a piteous look as she leaps down from the loading dock and strides over to the semi.

            “That wasn’t at all foreboding,” Nico dryly remarks.

            Percy repositions himself up against the wall. “Not in the s-slightest.” He winces a little and tries to figure out how bad the gash in his arm is without peeling away the bandage.

            Nico frowns.  He crawls over and sits next to Percy, shifting uncomfortably.  He can’t think of anything even mildly conversational to say. “S-so your arm hurts.”

            Percy gives him a wry look. “Th-thanks.”

            “S-sorry, uh.” Nico sits on his knees and tries to ignore the back-of-the-mind embarrassment demanding his attention. “What happened, exactly?”

            Percy shrugs. “S-somebody shot me or something.  I’ll live.”

            Nico pokes his bicep and tries to ignore the ever-intensifying embarrassment as he realizes that wasn’t a great idea.  He’s fine with functioning one-on-one with Percy, but with an audience of bloodthirsty archeresses (this isn’t a word, but it should be okay) watching, he’s finding it difficult to remember his Injured Percy-etiquette. 

            Percy grimaces when Nico prods at his arm. “That sh-should make it better.  Th-thanks, Neeks.” His voice is just slightly bitter.

            Nico rubs the back of his neck a little. “I…sorry.” He decides it’s best if he doesn’t interact with Percy right now.  His mind is too jumbled from the attention he’s receiving from the Hunters to focus on acting normally around the golden apple (mythology reference can I get a hell yeah) of his eye.

            So, instead of trying harder, he retreats to the back corner of the loading dock, slumping against the garage door separating them from the stockrooms of the mall.  He curls up and starts mentally reprimanding himself for all of his actions.  He was dumb to not have helped Percy up when he was waking him earlier.  He wouldn’t be hurt now if he’d just helped him stand up.  He was dumb for the entire scene that just unfolded.  He was dumb for this, for that.  It didn’t matter whether or not facts backed these theories, Nico felt pain for them all.  Self-hate begins to flood him again.  He tucks his head against his forearms and squeezes his eyes shut.  His fingers find their ways into his sleeves and, within seconds, he’s digging little ruts into his arms with his nails.  He closes his eyes tight.

            “Stupid, stupid, stupid…” he murmurs to himself, closing his eyes tightly.

            Percy frowns.  He certainly didn’t mean to make Nico feel bad about himself.  And even Percy, one of the most emotionally handicapped people ever, can tell that Nico wasn’t exactly soaring on the metaphorical eagle’s wings right now.

            He heads over to him and plops down beside him.  Shadows cast down heavily on them.  The Hunters turn their attention to preparing watch and tending to wounded, the boys basically forgotten.  Thunder claps again and, steadily, rain begins to fall.

            Percy nudges Nico with his elbow.

            Nico jumps a little.  He heard Percy come over, but he’d just expected him to have wanted to get away from the edge of the dock.  He wasn’t expecting any kind of contact whatsoever.  Slowly, Nico peeks out at him.

            “You o-okay, bud?” Percy asks, offering that smile of his.

            Nico glances away from his face. “I’m f-fine.” He pulls his hands out of his sleeves and goes to tuck them into his pockets when Percy’s hand closes around his wrist.  Nico pushes at his chest a little. “D-d…”

            Percy ignores him and gentles the sleeve back a little.  Nico doesn’t resist.  He just watches the ground as he waits for the figurative shit to hit the figurative fan.

            Percy pushes the sleeve back to the middle of his forearm.  What he sees tugs on his heart.  Nico’s arm is marred with dozens of little nail marks at varying stages of healing.  To make it worse, it’s clear they’re self-inflicted.

            Nico mildly pulls his arm back to himself and pulls the sleeve down.  He sighs softly.  What can he say to redeem himself here?  Little, very little.

            There’s a long moment of silence so tense it’s almost palpable.

            Nico’s ready for disgust, maybe even anger.  But all he gets is a hand on his jaw coaxing him to look up.  Hesitantly, he obliges, doing his best not to let himself embrace that hand, encourage the calloused fingers to pass gently over his cheek, nuzzle it into his hair.  He doesn’t allow himself the opportunity to.  He rigidly keeps his distance from the hand, obeying it but not sinking into it.  Never succumbing to a gentle touch.

            Percy looks at him with so much softness on his face you’d think he’d never done a thing wrong.  Nico refuses to meet his eyes.  He stubbornly fixes his eyes on the wall by his neck.

            Percy gives his ear a little tug.  Nico’s eyes flash to meet his, his face morphed into a glower.  Percy grins for a short moment. “Nico, please don’t do that anymore.  There’s no reason for it.”

            Nico pushes Percy’s hand away by the wrist.  He keeps his mouth shut and presses closer to the walls.

            “Please don’t?”

            He doesn’t say anything.

            “Nico, please?  I’m serious.”

            Nico chances a glance over to see that, yes, Percy is serious.  His face has a special brand of worry on it he’s only rarely seen before.  He allows himself to unfurl a little. “Why shouldn’t I?” His voice sounds small even to him.

            “Because hurting yourself doesn’t help anything.” Percy looks a little helpless. “If you’re ever upset about something, come to me with it, okay?  I don’t know how much I’ll be able to, but I’d be glad to help.”

            Nico watches the ground again.  A roly-poly is crawling by the toe of his boot.  There’s a little patch of dry grass sprouting through a crack in the cement.  Nico’s mind blanks for a second of all but one persistent phrase.  _Trust him_.

            Very slowly, Nico looks back up at Percy and swallows the anxiety rising in his throat. “Are you sure?”

            Percy nods a little.  Nico focuses on his feet.  He can feel anxiety clawing its way up his throat. “I…” _Just say it, Nico, just tell him already, tell him how you feel, come ON, don’t pussy out on this, do IT_

“…I’ll let you know.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lemme know if y'all wanna see anything happen in here 'cos i'm always in need of ideas c; 
> 
> aLSO if you can tell me who i named the doctor lady after i'll give you a shiny new penny


	19. I Did an Admittedly Bad Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy and Thalia catch up. Percy gets uncomfortable a few times. Nico's heart breaks. A surprise guest shows his or her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DID A VERY BAD THING IN THIS CHAPTER PLEASE DON'T HATE ME I JUST REALLY LIKE THEIR PAIN  
> I'M AFRAID I MIGHT'VE CROSSED FROM THE "OKAY" ZONE TO THE "THIS IS VERY NOT OKAY" ZONE BUT OH WELL  
> THIS WAS NOT PLANNED I JUST WROTE IT AND THOUGHT "WELL NOBODY'S CRYING IN THIS SCENE THAT ISN'T RIGHT" AND JUST KINDA  
> YEP
> 
> ALso
> 
> Over the next few days I'm going to be traveling with my family so HOPEFULLY I'll be able to continue updating at the same pace. If not, I'm sorry. BUT I will do my best. Given we'll be driving for like two straight days and I can update from the car, I think it should be okay ;D
> 
> Enjoy and please do not hate me!

            Percy can’t sleep.  It’s been too weird a day to just go to sleep once it gets dark.  Instead, he stays up and chats with Thalia while she’s assigned to watch.  They sit in the cab of the semi, scanning the grounds for an approaching threats.  Since he wasn’t able to see the loading dock from the cab, Percy had moved Nico into the back of the semi.  Nico had protested, but, eventually, he relented and curled up in a love seat for the evening.

            Percy is seriously craving that love seat right now.  Turns out driver’s seats in semi-trucks are not the coziest things.  He squirms a little and tries to get comfy. 

            Thalia looks very content.  She’s kicked her feet up on the dashboard and is leaning back in her seat, arms crossed over her chest, quiet.  The silence between them is comfortable and easy, filled with the woodsy sounds of the world beyond the windshield.

            After about an hour of stillness, Thalia says, “Where the hell have you been, anyways?  Annabeth’s been worried sick.”

            Percy’s ears perk. “A-Annabeth?  So she’s okay?”

            Thalia rolls her eyes. “She’s _Annabeth_.  Of course she’s okay.” She shoots him a sideways glance and grins. “We haven’t been so sure about _you_ , though.”

            Percy manages a soft laugh.  His heart is thrumming in his chest.  How long had it been since he’d given the topic of Annabeth any thought beyond a blush of memory or an understood reality?  How long had it been since he actually thought about her in depth, tried to remember all their happy times, their sad times, their anything times? 

            “I’ve been fine,” he says.  He doesn’t want to go into his misadventures too much. “Just a little sidetracked.”

            “By what?  The kid?” She nods back toward the trailer.

            Percy’s thrown for a second.  Kid?  Who…?  Ah, yes. “You mean Nico?”

            “Is that his name?”

            Percy nods a little. “Yeah, but no, he hasn’t really sidetracked me much.  I actually picked him up on the way out of the city.”

            Thalia isn’t interested in that. “Do you two have a history?”

            Percy raises a brow. “Pardon?”

            “A history.  You know, a prior involvement or whatever.”

            “What?  N—”

            “I mean, I wouldn’t take you for the type to like other guys, but—”

            “ _Excuse me?_ ”

            Thalia laughs. “The way you were fawning over him earlier just made it seem sorta, I don’t know, like you two had something going.”

            Percy doesn’t know if Thalia’s just trying to make him uncomfortable now or if she’s being serious.  He’s more than a little flustered.  Him and Nico?  No, that’d be…no, that…they couldn’t…but they make a good team…  He pauses.  _What if?_

“I—”

            “I just thought you and Annabeth were exclusive.”

            Percy looks over at her and sees the slick little smirk on her face.  She cinches the oversized leather jacket around her shoulders tighter around her body. “That started as a joke, y’know, but you just got so ruffled I had to keep it going.”

            “You’re an ass.”

            She laughs. “I think you’re rubbing off on me.”

            “My bad assitude is rubbing off on you?”

            She pauses. “That was just the worst, Percy.  Just the worse imaginable pun.” But she shares a laugh anyways.  When she glances back out the window, it’s in time to see a creature lumbering out from the forest. “One sec.”

            Thalia easily maneuvers herself out the half-opened window of the cab and pulls herself onto the roof where she reclaims her bow and arrow.  Effortlessly, she notches an arrow and lets it fly to its landing point directly between the creature’s eyes.  It pitches backward, twitching a few times as it dies.  Thalia grins and enjoys the gentle rainfall for a few moments before sliding back into the cab.

            “Congrats, I think that’s the Zombie Kill of the Week,” Percy remarks, nodding to her.

            “Nah.  That was nothing.”

            They continue to chat for another hour or so, until it’s decided they need to change watch.  Thalia covers Percy as he raps on the cracked back of the trailer.  There’s some grumbling from inside, but after a few seconds, a few of the Hunters open it up for them.

            Percy crawls in and looks around. “Thalia told me an Ariana was supposed to be on watch next?  Ariana?”

            Eventually, a girl with silky caramel hair stands and pushes by him, muttering to herself sleepily as she joins Thalia on the ground.

            Nico pops up from the leather chair he was dozing in and tiptoes over sleepy Hunters to join her.  Percy knits his brow. “Where’re you going?”

            “Can’t sleep.  Might as well do something productive,” he responds, refusing to look up at him.  Percy’s ruffled again.

            “Well, all right.  Just try to sleep at some point tonight, okay?”

            “Yeah, yeah.” Nico slides out of the back. “Night, Jackson.”

            “Night, di Angelo.”

            Thalia climbs in and they pull the back closed all but for a few inches at the bottom.  Percy settles into the love seat and the warmth Nico left behind and ponders how unpleasant it is to not have a head nestled on his shoulder as he drifts off.

 

            Bengele watches with critical understanding as one of the specimens stumbles about in an observation room.  Fluorescent lights flicker overhead.

            The specimen stumbles forward, its body racked with disease, but its eyes holding lupine intelligence.  Before it is a basic puzzle.  Easily, though its hands fumble incessantly, the host completes the task and pulls at the ropes binding its ankles to the floor. 

            A picture its wallet is introduced by men in riot gear.  The creature lurches forward and claws for it, a broken hiss emerging from its throat. 

Bengele hums and quirks an icy smile.

            It throws itself forward, choking on a name as it snaps its teeth at the picture.  Words don’t come easily, but it tries for them.

            Bengele takes notes.

            _Frontal lobe highly functional; temporal lope mostly functional; new virus functions to eliminate those the host remembers by accessing temp. lobe; frontal lobe enables the host to be more adept than others with lesser strand._

            She watches as the creature subsides a little, feigning calm, then launches itself at the guard as he comes in to retrieve the picture.

            _Frontal lobe access enables forethought_.

            The creature is put down quickly as the doctor concludes her research.  She decides the new virus makes hosts into semi-intelligent (though still rather undead) cannibals with rudimentary processing skills and facial recognition.  

            She smiles coolly again as another specimen is introduced into the observation room.  This is her favorite part of the job.

            Watching people become hosts.

            “Inject the patient with the virus, please.”

 

            The next morning, bright and early, Nico and Percy leave the company of the Hunters.  Thalia insists they take some food and water along, as the majority of theirs was lost in the warehouse.  After thanking them and ominously being warned they’d be collected again soon, Nico and Percy set off toward Arcade again.

            Their pace, however, has slowed greatly.  Percy’s injuries make them shuffle instead of jog.

            Nico strolls beside him, his pipe held laxly enough that it drags along on the ground behind him.  Now that Percy’s seen his arms and didn’t seem to be disgusted, he feels relatively comfortable removing his jacket.  It’s tied around his waist now, the sleeves of the flannel shirt pushed up just enough that some of his forearm is visible.  He sighs softly and wipes the sweat off his brow.

            “We’ll never get there at this rate,” he grumbles.

            Percy nurses his ribs. “Don’t be so dark all the time, Neeks.  We’ll be there soon enough.” The optimism in his voice is so feeble it has Nico worried.

            “Can I just point out that you just told the kid who talks to zombies that he shouldn’tbe dark?”

            “Well, just because you talk to dead people doesn’t mean you have to have the temperament of one.”

            “And what, pray, is the temperament of a dead person?”

            Percy thinks for a long moment. “Bleh.”

            “Bleh?” Nico wrinkles his nose. “You think I’m bleh?”

            Percy shrugs, his face playfully critical. “Occasionally.”

            Nico chuckles and glances around cautiously.  Nothing’s coming at them yet, but he’s got a creeping feeling in the pit of his gut that that might change soon.  He gulps and quickens his pace.

            Percy keeps up easily because, well, long legs.  Sweat’s already settled on his brow.  The sun’s barely up, but it’s clear it’s going to be a hot one today.  And a humid one, most likely.  Percy groans internally.  Because fighting zombies and being confused by feelings just wasn’t enough.  It had to be uncomfortably humid on top of everything else.

            His hair was going to be a complete mess.

            Nico’s gotten very quiet beside him.  He glances down at him to see his head down, his face pinched in thought.  Something’s troubling him.

            So, of course, Percy does the only reasonable thing. 

He pries.

            “Do you have anything to let me know?”

            Nico’s head snaps up.  It takes him a moment to register what Percy’s talking about.  When he does, his face distorts into something unrecognizable and he looks stubbornly forward. “I…I might.”

            “Might?  This is a yes or no thing, Nico.”

            Nico nods a little. “I know.  I get it.  We’ll talk later.  Now’s not the time.”

            “Why’s that?”

            “Something’s following us.  Something big.”

            “Like big as in Great Dane or big as in Empire State Building?”

            “Monster truck big.  But a monster truck made up of littler monster trucks.”

            “Shit.”

            Nico nods in affirmation.  Then, without a word, he grabs Percy’s arm and yanks him into the back of an SUV.  Percy yelps because Nico managed to get his bad arm, but is incredibly grateful moments later when something comes toward the truck.  It throws itself at the side of the SUV with so much force it actually makes it wobble on its wheels.  Percy crouches, taking Nico under his arm.

            The SUV’s windows are down and, within milliseconds, there’s an arm shooting through it, clawing wildly at the seat.  A head appears afterwards and Percy draws Nico closer.

            This thing is straight from a Lovecraft story.  Its face drips pus of various colors and textures, its hair is wild and matted on top of its head, its nose sits at an odd angle on its face.  Its lips are so dry they don’t even cover its teeth anymore.  The side of its head has been blown off.  And, to make it even creepier, Percy can’t shake a sense of strong familiarity that’s settled over him.

It sneers in at them, trying to squirm its way into the car.

            Nico gasps next to Percy and covers his mouth.  Percy doesn’t figure out why for a long moment.

            He then notices a few interesting things.

            This is definitely one of the Rage Virus zombies

            This thing is determined to get into the car, even if its anatomy doesn’t want it to.

            This thing is leading a pack of other things.

And, lastly, this _thing_ isn’t a just any _thing_.

            Nico’s crying.  He reaches a hand out feebly.  With a wobbly voice, he croaks, “B-Bianca…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a VERY BAD PERSON OKAY


	20. I Did Another Bad Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bianca's determined. Percy's overwhelmed. Nico's broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DIDN'T FIX THE BAD THING  
> I COULD HAVE, BUT I DIDN'T  
> I MIGHT'VE EVEN MADE IT WORSE  
> <3
> 
> I owe you guys some really fluffy chapters I know
> 
> I'll probably update again later, but for now
> 
> ~Enjoy this i guess~

            Bengele yawns before addressing the staff seated before her.

            “According to our research,” she says, gesturing toward the video playing of a famished Rage Virus zombie devouring a photograph, “the creatures infected with the new strand, or rather, the Mor-6 Strand, seem to retain some sort of memory.

            “In recent tests, the Mor-6 specimens have been found to attack photographs found on their person at the time of harvesting.  Adult men seem more likely to go after pictures of female partners.  The same works both ways.  If photographs of children are found, all attention towards romantic partners seems to be forgotten.  The specimens will always go for familial bonds over romantic ones.

            “We believe this has to do with remnants of adrenaline, dopamine and oxytocin as well many other, lesser chemicals.  These play a role in activating memory in their brains.  We believe their memories of those with whom they were close—be it their voice, look, smell, et cetera—is what drives the infected to seek them out.”

 

Percy remembers what happened now.  It all comes back to him in a flash.

The backroom of the grocery store.

            The zombie crouched over Bianca, her blood all over its face.

            His panic as he realized there were more lurking right around the corner.  He didn’t know how many and he didn’t want to stick around to find out, so he just shot the one over Bianca before realizing it was too late for her.  He thought he’d shot her dead as well, but now…

            Now he can see he only grazed the side of her head.

            Her torso is through the window now.  Nico’s fighting against him.  He’s sprawling out, reaching for her, screaming in Italian. “Bianca!  Sorella, per favore!  Sono io Nico! Il tuo fratellino!  Per favore, Bianca, guardami!  Per favore!  Hai bisogno di essere tutto a posto!  Ho bisogno di te, sorella!  Per favore!  Ti amo!  Ti amo, ti preghiamo di tornare a me!”

            He reaches for her as she pulls her hips over the edge of the window.  She stares at him with bright eyes and lurches forward, hissing something that vaguely resembles his name.

            Percy pulls Nico back, holding him around the stomach, and kicks Bianca in the face.  He does his best to hold Nico close, to keep him out of harm’s way, but the boy is a flurry of limbs.  He sobs and thrashes against Percy.  His voice is ragged from crying already.

            “B-Bianca!  P-please, B-Bianca, I-I!” He writhes against Percy, clawing at the air.  He chokes on a sob. “P-please, Bianca, I-I—”

            Bianca’s legs are in the car now.  One of the others is following her lead.

            Bianca’s limbs move in a way that Percy thought anatomically impossible.  One shoulder is too high, her hips are pressed low, and a hand is clawing at the headrest of the driver’s seat. 

            Nico reaches for her again and Percy tugs him back firmly against his chest. “N-Nico, that’s not your sister anymore, you can’t—”

            Nico’s desperation outweighs logic.  He pushes himself forward, out of Percy’s grip, and stumbles toward his sister. “B-Bianc—”

            She shoots forward, biting the air directly in front of his nose.  She would’ve taken it off entirely if not for the headrest catching her hips.  Bianca falls forward, clawing for a grip on the seat, and wiggles her hips free.  Another zombie is pouring itself in through the passenger side window.  One of her hands catches Nico on the thigh.  Her nails dig in and she pulls herself upright.

            Nico doesn’t even seem to notice.  He’s trying to touch her, to feel her hair.  In his mind, she’s perfectly okay.  He can’t process the nightmare unwinding before him.

            She pulls herself forward and, before Percy can even shout, sinks her teeth in Nico’s shoulder.  He releases a confused cry and starts pushing on her.  His face shows confusion when she doesn’t let go.

            Then it all hits him.

            This isn’t Bianca.  This isn’t rosy-cheeked, smiling, living, loving Bianca.  The façade he constructed in his mind of ruddy skin and glimmering eyes and healthy hair falls away and he sees the true horror of the situation.  His hand shoots out to Percy, grabbing him by the wrist.

            “P-Percy!” His voice is ragged and the tears are still falling. “P-Percy!!” He kicks her in the chest a few times.

            She twists and tears away a chunk of something red.

            Percy can’t think about a bite wound right now.  He just snatches Nico away from her and grabs his gun.  It’s shaking in his hand, but he does his best to aim.  Bianca’s fixing to launch herself at them again when he pulls the trigger.

            It nails her in the shoulder and, with a shriek, she topples out the open window behind her.

            Percy’s breathing hard.  He’s noticing the others scrambling back to them.

            “T-talk to them, Nico!  Talk to them!” he shouts, pulling Riptide out of its sheath with his free hand.  His other is dedicated to holding Nico close and keeping him there by splaying out on his chest.  Percy can feel the sporadic beat of Nico’s heart against his palm.  He feels like crying for him.  Even if they survive this, he feels Nico will never be the same.

            Nico does his best to clear the sobs from his voice, but he can’t.  The best he can manage are a few strangled shouts of “S-stop!” as the Ragers crawl back to meet them.

            Percy is forever grateful for his boots.  The soles are grooved and sturdy, helping him crush zombie face with ease.  However, these zombies are more vivacious than most.  They bite onto his soles and ankles, shaking their heads like eager puppies with chew toys.  Percy’s glad his boots are well attached.

            Nico swings his pipe wildly, slamming it into whatever comes close to him (this more than once being Percy’s shoulder), but loses his momentum entirely with Bianca resurfaces.

            The place where the bullet hit her shoulder is arrhythmically bleeding, splashing black blood onto the sun-beaten seats.  Nico’s voice is raw. “ _B-Bianca, please, d-don’t!_ ”

            Percy grits his teeth and slams Riptide into one of the front seat zombies’ heads before hoisting Nico up and doing something he should’ve a few minutes earlier.

            Heading for the sunroof.

            It is partially open, like the rest of the windows, and allows easy access to the oven-hot roof of the SUV.  He fits Nico through the slat first, using the leather sleeves on his forearms to shove back Ragers fighting their way through the windows on either side of him.  Bianca’s clawing up at Nico with fearsome determination that puts the others to shame.

 

            “We’ve theorized,” Bengele continues, “that the virus plays tricks with the infected’s minds.  For instance, what we see recorded is nothing more than a monster wearing human skin tearing into momentos of another life.  But what they see, what their ferocity illustrates, is the strong will to protect loved ones.  We think that they believe that, by destroying those they love, they’re protecting them.  By tearing them apart, they are keeping them whole.”

            The Mor-6 on the screen stops and stares down at the shreds of the pictures around it, swaying slightly, but otherwise rigid.

            “The delusion is so strong that those infected do not recognize what they’ve done until it is too late for their other.” 

            The creature begins eating the paper.

“And by that point, hunger wins out over an initial guilt.”

Bengele flashes a neat little smile. “This certainly is a nasty little bug.”

 

            Percy kicks Bianca away and squirms up next to Nico.  He’s hyperventilating, his whole body shaking horribly.  His face is pale.  He keeps whispering his sister’s name like a scared mantra, tears streaming down his filthy cheeks. 

            A Rager is crawling up the windshield toward them.  Its jaw hangs at an odd angle in its mouth.  Its skin is peeling worse than the faux leather seats of the car.

            Percy thrusts his arm forward and lets the creature latch onto the sleeve.  He grunts and fights with it briefly before using his weight to throw the creature onto the asphalt.  Another’s already taking its place.

            One more has sprouted up at his left.

            Bianca’s hand is groping for Nico’s ankle.  He’s grabbing at her knuckles like a child, sobbing hysterically and screaming her name.  His voice is broken glass and jagged splinters.

            Percy can see even more of the creatures loping down the street toward them.

            He takes a deep breath and slams Riptide into the nearest one’s head.

 

            “So what you’re saying, ma’am, is that these creatures will actually seek out those they remember exclusively?”

            “Yes.”

            “Will they target others?”

            Bengele’s eyes sparkle. “Oh, yes.  They’ll target anything that moves.  Especially anything that moves in the way of their objective.”

 

            Percy kicks one of them off the windshield and wrenches Bianca’s hand free of Nico’s ankle.  She hisses and slams her way up, her head smashing against the thick glass of the sunroof as she goes.  With a grunt, she pulls herself through.

            Percy puts himself firmly between the two.

 

            “Which target are they more interested in: The loved one or whoever’s blocking them?”

            “They first eliminate the stumbling block.  Then they go for the one they love.”

 

            Bianca lurches toward Percy’s throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls do not burn me at the stake 
> 
> pls do follow me on tumblr cos i'm thirsty


	21. Percy's Less Oblivious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know how to sum this sonbitch up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE ENCOURAGEMENT OH MY GOSH I CAN'T GET OVER HOW KIND YOU ALL ARE
> 
> I'll probably update again later cos dang this car ride still has 7 hours left. 
> 
> So this happened. 
> 
> Eeee.

            Nico acts. 

He forces his pipe forward, holding it at either end with trembling hands, and pushes his sister away from Percy.  She wheezes and goes to move again.  Before she can, Percy kicks her firmly and muscles her off the roof of the car.  Nico’s shaking hard behind him.  His voice comes softly, a calm in the storm, even if he’s speaking with a sandpaper throat and a tongue of lead.  He speaks to the shell of Percy’s ear.

            “Kill her.  P-please, kill her.”

            Percy does nothing but nod. 

            Within seconds, Bianca’s back on the car.  One leg dangles freely, pawing for a hold against the door.  The other has a foot wedged firmly in the open window.  Her hands claw for grips, her nails raking against the metal.  One hand shoots out and scratches Nico’s forearm, causing him to yelp and kick at her.  He turns his face away as Percy pulls out Riptide and—

            —has to deflect an approaching attack from his left.  The determination of the creatures is incredible.

            He scalps the approaching one and feels a hand at his hip.  Nico’s fumbling with the holster on his belt.  His eyes are locked on his sister now.

            “K-kill her.” His hands are uncertain and awkward on the gun, but he manages to draw it.  Tears have started back up in his eyes. “K-kill her, P-Percy, kill her.” He twists away again, gun in hand, and shoots a zombie off the other side of the car. “N-now, Percy!”

            Bianca’s gained her footing.  She pulls herself up and sprawls out over Percy, drool and slime dripping off her face and onto his, her teeth snapping harmlessly over his face.  He wedges his forearm against her throat and the curve of her collar.  Right where the horrific, marring bite wound is.

            He sees her clearly now.  He sees the freckles on the bridge of her nose.  He sees the sharpness of her brows, the high cheek bones.  Features that once beautiful destroyed by rot and disease.

            His heart breaks for Nico.

            He heaves her off, onto the windshield, and bears Riptide down on her.  He doesn’t watch the result, but he knows the abrupt lack of wheezing confirms the kill.

            Behind him, Nico’s struggling.  There’s a zombie inching up the side at him, its hands planted firmly on the roof between his legs.  It’s pulling itself up, wiggling its body until it’s up and over Nico.  He’s trying to shoot without result.  The clip’s finally run out. 

            It leers, its mouth wide.  Nico squirms, spread eagle beneath it, doing his best to reach his pipe.  It rolls out of his reach and onto the ground.

Percy grimaces.  He unabashedly grabs the host by the shirt collar and lifts it up.  He grabs the gun and slams the butt into its head repeatedly.  His entire body trembles with strain and hurt as he does.  His wounded arm screams in protest.  But he doesn’t care. 

            He drops its corpse with finality and glances around.  The lot of them are dead, sprawled in various, very dead positions all around the SUV. 

            Nico’s gone.

            It doesn’t take him long to find him.

            He’s sitting in front of the SUV, cradling Bianca’s body, a hand brushing through her dark, matted hair.  He mumbles to her in Italian, repeating the phrase, “Ti amo, ti amo, ti amo”.  He gazes at her face, his bottom lip trembling, and grabs at a little scrap of blanket from off the road.  He dips it in a rain puddle and begins delicately wiping her face clean.  He works so gently that Percy has a hard time believing this is the same boy who had, in the past, so viciously torn into the undead.

            Once he’s cleaned her up, she bears only a slight resemblance to the girl Percy remembers seeing.  Her face is still scarred with boles and pocks, but he can at least make out her features now.

            Percy doesn’t interfere.  He just keeps watch and waits for Nico to finish mourning.

            From somewhere in the folds of his aviator jacket, Nico pulls out a green felt cap.  He works to fit the cap on her head without shattering it any more than Percy already had.  By the time he finishes, she looks _almost_ normal. 

            Nico bends over her and kisses both of her cheeks. “Ti amo, sorella.”

            He then stands, walks over to Percy, and gently holds his arm.  He picks up his pipe from where it had fallen and says softly, “Let’s k-keep moving.”

            Percy nods a little, sheathing Riptide, and supports Nico.  His entire body throbs from strain and yesterday’s injuries.  His head aches from an emotional overload.  He knows he’ll only be able to go so far today, but he promises himself he’ll get Nico as far away from here as he physically can.

            Nico lays his head on his bicep and watches the road with red, glassy eyes.  His small body trembles.

            Percy shepherds him closer and leads him along the ditches at the side of the road.  They’re quiet for a long time.  Neither comments when the crows and vultures begin circling the SUV.  Nico keeps his head down, Percy keeps his up.  They move until they reach their limit and, eventually, both collapse beneath a bridge on the highway.

            Nico stars at the vacant road and tucks himself into Percy’s side.

            Percy finally breaks the silence. “I’m sorry, Nico.  I’m so sorry.”

            Nico lifts a shoulder. “Doesn’t matter now.”

            Percy decides it’s best not to argue with him in this state.  He remembers his shoulder and tries not to go rigid. “Did she bite you?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Did it break the skin?”

            Nico shakes his head.  He shows Percy his shoulder, where a red checker of his black-and-red flannel had been torn out. “It’ll bruise, but I’ll be all right.”

            Percy sighs in relief and pulls Nico close.  A ball of tension in the pit of his stomach unravels. 

            Nico doesn’t resist him.  He sinks into Percy’s warmth, his cheek again his sternum, and does his best not to break down again.  He feels limp.  There’s an emptiness in his guts that nothing can pave over.  It was as if when Bianca left for good, she took his liver and spleen with her.  He feels hollowed out.

            Percy rubs his back.

            Nico buries his face in the folds of his shirt. “I-I thought she w-was okay at first, ya know?  M-maybe that sh-she’d lived, I…I-I didn’t…I…”

            Percy nods a little, his chin on Nico’s head. “I understand.  It’s…” He couldn’t say “it’s okay”, because things were very clearly far from “okay”. “It’s all over now.”

            That wasn’t much better.

            Nico snuffles. “Y-yeah, it is.” His hand forms a little fist on Percy’s shirt collar.  He holds it firmly, his knuckles white.  He holds to Percy because if he doesn’t, he feels he’ll leave as well.  He’ll follow Bianca’s example and leave him.  He can’t stand to lose two people he loves in one day.

            He holds on tighter.

            Percy works a hand through the tangles in Nico’s hair and coos comforting nothings to him.  Nico barely listens to them.  His entirety is caught up in the moment, in the calmingly familiar smell of Percy, in the power of his heartbeat, the evenness of his breaths, the feel of laying against him, knees tucked close to him.  The feel of his breath whisking over his hair and dancing along the skin of his neck.

            Nico wipes his mind of the day and holds closer to Percy.  He doesn’t care about dignity right now.  If he cared about dignity right now, his being would collapse on itself.  Any veneer constructed would crumble beneath the overwhelming weight of grief.  He doesn’t need pride to get in the way of comfort right now.  He just needs, for the first time in a long time, to be coddled.  He needs the strong thrum of Percy’s heart, the puff of his breath, the sturdiness of his chest.  The gentle words his murmurs into his hair, the reminders that he’s alive, real, and right here for him.  He needs it like he needs the blood in his veins, the electric synapses orchestrating his breathing, the seams of his being.  He needs Percy more than he ever realized.

            As he drifts to sleep, thoughts of Percy strong hand the nightmares of Bianca away.  Sleep as peaceful as death settles over him and, for once, he enjoys it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snuggles give me life.


	22. Candlelit Hotel Rooms and Mythomagic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy doesn't understand Mythomagic. Nico's brave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured I owed you guys some fluffy stuff after the last few days of "whaT THE HELL" so  
> Fluff  
> :D  
> Probably another fluff chapter tomorrow too  
> :D:D:D fluff  
> I know this is short, but see, I've got a really long, adorable thing planned for tomorrow sosososso  
> Also I think I might post a fluffy Percico one-shot this evening (if I can write it quickly; if no, I'll try for tomorrow?) of just them at the beach because I am currently at the beach and I have SO MANY IDEAS

            Thalia kneels in the bushes, her face adorned with mud, her hair full of leaves.  She notches an arrow and releases a low whistle.

            The Hunters in the tree behind her notch arrows as well. 

            She clicks her tongue.

            In perfect unison, the bows raise.  The strings go taut.  The arrows are ready.

            A low, short whistle.

            The arrows hum through the air.  They hit their marks in sync and, suddenly, all the zombies with broken jaws kept in the fenced outdoor area topple over each other.  Thalia grins.

            “Fall back, girls.  We’ll visit when they’ve got more fodder for us.”

            Quietly as the whisper of falling leaves, the girls hurry through the woods, leaving no path to follow.

 

            Bengele is none too pleased to hear about the death of the Mor-6’ers.  She was hoping to study them more.  Perhaps take more tissue samples, play around with the virus. 

            It’s always a disappointment to see something you’ve worked so hard on laid to ruin.

 

            Annabeth confers with Jason and Frank. “What’re the conditions on the roof, Zhang?”

            Frank fidgets and swallows his anxiety. “Not great.  They’re trying to, uh, climb up to us.  I don’t know what to do.  They won’t give up.”

            Annabeth bites her lip. “Jason, how’re the masses?”

            He shakes his head a little. “Not good.  They’re getting antsy and we’re running low on supplies.  Soon enough, we’ll have a riot on our hands.”

            Something throws itself at the barred doors.  Annabeth flinches and pushes her hair off her forehead. “All right…all right.  Let’s work through this.”

 

            “No, no.  You can’t do that.”

            “But I thought…”

            “You thought _wrong_ , Jackson.  You cannot do that.”

            “But—!”

            “ _No_.” Nico crosses his legs, sitting back against the headboard. 

            Percy pouts. “I just figured…since I’d already…”

            “No!” Nico tosses a card at his head. “You have to play this one first.  It sets the stage for the Hades card.  _Gosh_.”

            Percy does not understand Mythomagic at all.

            He looks the cards in his hands. “Okay, uh…can you explain the concept of ‘attack points’ to me again?”

            Nico flops back in the dusty pillows. “I give up.”

            Percy had decided that, given the nature of the attack in the SUV, he should cut Nico some slack for a little bit.  Just hole up in an upper hotel room for a day or two until Nico felt up to venturing back out into the world of the undead.  Annabeth would have to wait just a few more days for him.

            It was shortly afterward they arranged themselves in a room that Nico introduced him to Mythomagic, the card game he confessed to being a little obsessed with in the Before.

            “Nooo,” Percy urges, sitting forward on his knees. “Please?  Teach me the thing, sensei.”

            Nico puts his nose up at the idea. “I tried to teach you the thing already, Grasshopper.  You are a lost cause.”

            Percy groans. “Here, explain it to me like this: If you and I had attack points, how many would we have?”

            “That analogy doesn’t make sense.”

            “Yeah, but now I just wanna know.”

            Nico muses for a second. “I’d have about 4,000.  You’d have 60, with assistance.”

            Percy glares playfully. “Hey!”

            Nico cracks the first tiny smile since the Bianca debacle the day before.  He tucks his knees up to his chest and hugs them, planting his chin on them. “You asked, Jackson.”

            “Yeah, but I was expecting something at least with three digits.”

            “Fine, fine.  60.1.”

            Percy gives him a playfully spiteful look and gently jabs his arm. “I know you know what I meant.”

            “Wow, you caught me, Jackson.  Good detective work.”

            Percy, both oblivious and acting on the impulses instituted by the feelings of his growing crush, does a very, very boy thing.  He physically tackles the thing that teased him.

            Nico has enough time to squeak and grasp at the air before Percy’s wrestled him to the mattress.  Percy’s careful not to slam Nico into the headboard, as he still considers him delicate, and diverts him to the pillows.

            Nico can’t help but let a little smile slip free.  He wedges a foot against Percy’s stomach and pushes at him. “You just can’t handle the truth.”

            Percy laughs. “If that were the truth, why aren’t you easily deflecting my attack?  You’re the one with the 6,000 attack points, after all.”

            “ _4,000_.”

            “Does that mean you can’t push me off?”

            Nico squirms for a few seconds. “Yes.”

            Percy grins at him. “Do I get triple digits?”

            Nico rolls his eyes. “Fine.  You get a solid 100.”

            “Victory!”

            Percy feels a little strange.  He tries to place the nervous jitters working through his body.  He’s feeling hyperaware of everything.

            The long shadows and striking, warm light cast by candles they’d found on their way here.

            The faraway grumbling of the undead as they bicker over something Percy could care less about.

            The way Nico is looking at him.  The way his hair feathers out on the white, fluffy comforter, the way his dark eyes have taken on a glimmer of happiness.  The random splatters of freckles on his nose and his cheeks.  His warm, olive skin, smooth as melting ice cream, catching the light gorgeously.  The soft grin on his lips.  His inviting lips.

            Percy recognizes he’s staring when Nico raises a brow, quirks those lips into a cheeky grin. “You all right there, Jackson?” His voice has taken on a playful lilt.  The words roll off his tongue like a warm, soft-spoken secret.

            Percy flushes. “O-of course.” He sits up, pulling Nico with him, and wiggles back over to his pile of cards.  He plucks them up and glances back over them. “Tell me about the Poseidon card.”

            Nico’s mind is far from Mythomagic right now. “Maybe later.” He puts the tips of his fingers on the cards and gently taps them back onto the mattress. “Can I…can I talk with you about something?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I GOT TO LISTEN TO SOOOO MUCH CUTE MUSIC WHILE WRITING THIS FLUFF IS INCREDIBLE 
> 
> Also  
> Just comment one of the following if you would because I can't decide something and I need help from you guys  
> -Bed  
> -Highway  
> -Forest  
> -Car  
> -Walmart
> 
> trust me just comment whichever 'cos it'll really help me decide something for an upcoming scene (though I might just do whatever cos ya know)


	23. Nico's Heartstrings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> heartstrings  
> pl. noun  
> deepest feelings or affections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> c: There'll be another chapter up shortly

            Percy feels a little jolt of anticipation.  He knew Nico would open up to him eventually. “Of course, Neeks.”

            Nico takes a deep breath.  This is it.  He’s going to tell him.

            “You know, yesterday really helped me understand something.” Nico chews his lip.

            “Yeah?”

            “Yeah.” He locks his hands in his lap and watches them.

            “I guess, so far, I haven’t really…come to terms with the gravity of our situation.”

            “What do you mean?” Percy asks.  He sits forward a little.

            “Just…” Nico looks up at him.  He feels like he’s about to cry and he has no idea why.  He’s not sad (well, no sadder than he had been seconds before), but he is scared.  He’s so, so, so scared.

            But he has to say it.  He has to get it off his chest.  He feels like, if he doesn’t, he’ll go crazy.

            “Just, I guess, beforehand I never really thought I could die.  I just figured that, well damn, I’m Nico, there’s no way this world can keep going on without me because I need to see it all.  If that makes sense.”

            “I think the same about Percy.”

            Nico smiles a little.  His vision’s blurry.

            “Good.  Good, ‘cos it couldn’t.” He recognizes what he said as Percy does and hurries to cover it up. “Anyway.  I just never thought I could die, but…I can.  I can and I don’t want to keep any secrets anymore because if I die, just…” He’s crying now.  He doesn’t even know why, he just is.  Wiping at his cheeks, he charges onward.

            “I don’t want to die with stuff on my chest.  So…here goes.

            “I’m gay, Percy.” He wipes at his cheeks. “I know that’s crazy awkward to hear, especially after whatever just happened, b-but it’s true.” His voice is shaky and uncertain. “I-I’m gay and, Percy, e-ever since I first saw you, I-I knew…” He looks back at his lap. “I-I knew I l-loved you.  I-I’m sorry, Percy, I’m s-so sorry, I-I know you don’t feel the same, b-but that’s how I feel.”

            He refuses to meet his eyes. “P-please, please, please d-don’t hate me.  D-don’t leave me on the street or a-anything and please don’t stop talking to me a-and…” He shakes his head a little.

            Percy starts to say something, but doesn’t make it too far.

            “I-I just can’t help it, Percy!” He shakes his head. “Y-you’re just…” He fists the sheets. “A-amazing, I guess.  Y-you’re smart and h-heroic and s-selfless and, l-let’s face it, hot as all hell, like seriously, Percy, what d-devil did you make a deal with.” He wipes his face again. “A-and I’m sorry that I feel this way, I-I don’t mean to, I-I really don’t, a-and I know you swing the complete opposite way, I just…I want t-to be honest with you i-in case something happens to either of us…

            “I-I just, Percy, I-I…j-just adore you.  M-more than I should, a-and I-I have for so long, I just…”

            He can’t keep his voice going.  He chokes on his words, stumbles over them, and buries his face in his hands. “I-I’m sorry, I-I’m so sorry…”

            Percy’s mind is racing.  He wants badly to tell Nico how he feels, but then…then there’s Annabeth.  Annabeth, love of his life.  But, of course, Annabeth might not even be alive.  Thalia doesn’t keep close tabs on camp residents, even her friends.

            He knows Nico is alive.  Nico is alive and rosy-cheeked and right in front of him.  He can reach out and touch Nico.  He can’t do that with Annabeth, not right now.  He can hold Nico now, comfort him now. 

            Nico’s words ring true.

            Any day, hour, minute, second, they could be dead.  Riddled with virus and chasing the other down with insatiable hunger. 

            If he goes, he wants to be remembered as a lover, not a fighter, and certainly not a cannibal, even if that does end up as his final form.  He wants his memory to be cherished, not the fuel of nightmares and emotional scarring.

            So, in a swift motion, he gathers Nico up and holds him to his chest, pressing his face gently to his shoulder. 

            Nico buries his face there, doing his best to dry his cheeks.  Another bubbling sob is forming in his throat.  He does his best to keep it down and tries to process what, exactly, is happening.  This is definitely going better than expected.

            His balls a hand at his collar and murmurs softly, “J-just…p-please d-don’t leave me a-alone…”

            Percy smiles a little, his brow crinkling up empathetically. “I’d never leave you alone, Neeks.  Never in a million years.”

            Nico feels like he’s floating.  This is the best response he could’ve asked for.  This is incredible.  Percy _isn’t_ repulsed.  In fact, he’s holding him.  He’s soothing him.  He’s not making fun of him or walking away from him.

            He’s right there for him.

            Percy gently untangles their bodies for a moment, just enough so he can look Nico in the eye.  Nico’s taken by the look on his face, by the infinite kindness in his eyes, as deep and overpowering as, well, the oceans they resembled.  He’s taken for the millionth time by the beauty of his face, by the strong jaw, the perfect placement of his every feature.  He’s taken because here’s this amazing, gorgeous guy, looking at him like he’s the only person he gives a rat’s ass about.  He’s taken because they’re here in a hotel room while the end of the world rages on outside and he doesn’t even care.

            He’s taken even more, though, when Percy nudges closer to him and, with as much gentleness as he has strength, touches his lips to his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly stalled for a whole page so they could kiss on 100.


	24. Stop the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stop the world 'cos I wannnnnaaaaa  
> Get offffff   
> With youuuuuuu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *unabashedly assigns the song "Bad Girls" to Thalia and refuses to write her to anything else*
> 
> So the song "Your Touch" by the Black Keys was very important in the making of this chapter because it's very hot and very end of the world-y 
> 
> Also  
> Can you guess who loves to write mildly erotic scene but cannot for the life of her think of good ways to end them   
> (hint it is me) 
> 
> eee

            Thalia watches the building from the trees.  She leans back against a fork in the branches and sets her brow hard.  It’s been three full hours since she sent Ariana in.  She was supposed to be back out two hours ago. 

            Thalia picks at the bark of the branch she’s perched on.  The time for the Hunters to call on the boys was nearing.

            Swiftly, Thalia drops from the tree, quickly taking care of a zombie stumbling nearby, and starts back toward the Hunter base camp.

            Moving in solitude means allowing herself to let her emotional guard down a little.  She’s not sad.  She will not cry.  But she will become reckless.  She allows herself to drift to a shopping center with a high concentration of the undead. 

            They spot her and begin to migrate, their mouths hanging open to release low, rumbling groans.  They lurch toward her in a horde, drool and blood puddling behind them.

            Thalia glares at them and draws her bow.  A summer storm is brewing the clouds into a swirling, gray mass.  Rain tempts to overflow from the cloudbanks.

            She notches an arrow as it begins to fall. “All right, you fugly bastards, let’s play.”

 

            It was probably just meant to be a sweet kiss, but it took no time to bubble into something much more invigorated.  Two boys, starved for affection, one struck by love, the other by dopamine influxes and an already wild libido, kissing can’t result in anything gentle for too long.

            Nico’s got handfuls of Percy’s hair twisted in his hands.  He’s not sure if he can even press himself any closer to Percy without their ribcages crashing together and becoming one.  He tilts his head to the side, clumsily keeping pace with Percy’s side of the kiss as he struggles to get closer.  Bombs of pleasure and sublimity burst in the pit of his stomach.  He’s forgetting everything but the warmth of another body and the sweet, saltwater taffy of Percy’s lips.

            Percy didn’t realize his hands could migrate up a shirt so quickly.  But here he is, elbow deep in the folds of Nico’s flannel, embracing with hungry hands the dips of his ribs, the smooth skin of his flank, the gentle slope of his hip.  Percy has never wondered so much about the body under Nico’s clothes, but now it seems like a felony that he hasn’t touched every plane of skin, hasn’t tasted every imperceptible curve.

            With unspoken urgency, the boys tumble back into the pillows.  It’s Nico’s turn to explore.

            He grabs Percy’s ass without hesitation.

            Percy pulls away for long enough for Nico to say, “I’ve wanted to do that since freshman orientation.” Percy grins and kisses the incline of his jaw.

            Nico bites his lip a little and slides his hands up to the small of Percy’s back, kicking up the base of his shirt enough to clearly feel the definition of cords of muscle, the dimples at the base of his back, the hot salty skin.  Nico doesn’t know what has come over Percy, but he’s going to take advantage of it as much as possible.  He works his hands up to smooth sinew of Percy’s shoulders.  He can feel the muscles working, rolling, beneath his skin as Percy scoops him up and pulls him closer, fitting himself between his legs.

            Nico kicks a leg over Percy’s thigh lazily and stretches out his neck a little.  Percy’s begun to speckle it with hickeys, his hands playing at the hem of Nico’s jeans.  Nico strains to get closer to his touch, his hips arching up to meet Percy’s, a moan tumbling over his lips.

            Percy smiles against his skin.  Nico’s moan purrs against his lips.  He grabs Nico’s hair and pulls at it a little, causing him to arch against him more.  Percy kisses his prominent clavicle, his free hand creeping up the arc of his back.  His mind’s begun to wonder to the areas still hidden by jeans.  His tongue is starved for the warmth and saltiness of inner thighs.  

            Nico’s got him by the hair again.  Despite his seemingly fragile frame, Nico isn’t up for gentleness Percy expects.  He tugs Percy up by the roots of his hair and roughly forces their lips together, his hand splaying on the back of his neck.

            It’s not long before both have abandoned their shirts.  Nico’s hooked a leg around Percy’s waist, a hand still holding his hair.  Percy’s tasting his chest, sending sparks of pleasure through his core.  He gulps down another moan.

            Percy’s hand is fiddling with zipper.  Nico shakes his head a little. “N-no, Jackson.”

            Percy glances up, confused.  Nico’s proud to have made his hair look as wild as it does, to have been the cause of the sweat dotting his forehead.  He smooths back his hair and rests his hand on Percy’s nape. “Not t-today.”

            “B-but,” Percy stammers, but he’s already placed his hands respectfully at Nico’s sides. “Carpe diem?”

            Nico laughs. “There’ll b-be no days left to seize if I can’t r-run tomorrow.”  

            Percy can’t argue with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh this is short


	25. Fevers and Favors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alliterative!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a crazy long day and I haven't really been able to consistently write, so this might be a lil choppy ^^' Sorryyyyyyyyyy
> 
> Tomorrow'll probably be better :D 
> 
> Enjoy!

            Thalia meets back up with the Hunters early the next morning.  She’s tired, bedraggled, and only fifty percent sure she hasn’t suffered any bite wounds, but she keeps moving.

            The Hunters meet her in a quiet swarm.  Questions tumble over one another, caretakers fret over her, and old veterans scoff.  Thalia rolls her eyes at all of them. “Quiet, ladies.”

            Nobody questions her.  The grave expression on her face is more than enough to tip them off to that being a bad idea.

            “Ariana’s still in there.”

Instantly, the group starts bickering again.  Thalia crosses her arms.  They shut _right_ up.

“I think it’s about time we call in our boys, don’t you?”

           

By the time they leave a day later, Nico really _cannot_ run.  However, Percy has nothing to do with that.

            A fever does.

            Before they leave their cozy little nest, Percy bundles Nico up.  He buttons up both his and Nico’s flannel shirts over his chest, zips up the aviator jacket and even fits him with one of his leather sleeves. “Just in case,” he says, offering a weary smile.

            Nico only nods a little, his teeth clacking. 

            Percy’s a little scared, admittedly.  He double checked Nico’s shoulder, finding only a bruise and no bite wound, but could not soothe the feeling of panic in his chest.  Nico had smiled wanly, ruffling his hair as he looked his shoulder over. “R-relax, Percy.  I’m sure i-it’ll be okay.  I was a-always getting sick as a kid.” He shrugs. “I-it was bound to happen a-again, anyways.  Let’s j-just keep moving.”

            Moving is difficult.  Nico has a hard time walking for long periods of time.  His knees wobble, his eyelids droop.  He has to lean on Percy.

            Percy can feel fever heat simmering on his brow.  His throat feels tight. 

            “Nico,” he says as they settle to the ground beside the highway.  This will be the fourth time they’ve had to since they set out. “Are you sure you’re okay to walk this?  We can rest a few more days, if you want…”

            “N-no.” Nico almost chokes on the word.  He shakes his head. “I-I’ll be all right.  L-let’s get you home, yeah?  Th-then we can worry about my cold.”

            “But—”

            Nico ungracefully pushes at his face. “But n-nothing, Jackson.  Y-you need to get back to your family and friends ASAP.”

            “ _But_ —”

            Nico paws at him again. “N-no ‘but’s, Percy.”

            Percy catches his hand and, without much hesitation, Nico flips him off.  Percy kisses the pad of his middle finger.  Nico smiles and easily pries his hand free. “Look, j-just don’t worry about me, all right?  Plenty o-of other things to worry about.”

            Percy decides not to press it anymore.  Nico’s set his mind on not being fussed over, so he won’t fuss over him (outwardly; inwardly, he’ll be a wreck all he wants to).

            Nico spends their time sitting with his head against Percy’s bicep, shivering and fitfully trying to get comfortable.  Percy keeps an arm around him and watches for any approaching threats.

            “Can I at least raid a pharmacy?  Try to find something to make you feel a little better?”

            Nico shifts a little.  He sighs. “You’re n-not gonna give this up, huh?”

            “Of course not.”

            Nico sighs again. “F-fine.” He coughs into the crux of his elbow. “Let’s s-see if we can find something to s-slow this down.”

            “What?”

            Nico’s already standing though.  He stumbles a little, groans, and squares his shoulders. “Th-there’s an exit up here.  Let’s go.”

            Before he can take a step, Percy picks him up bridal style and starts toward the exit.  Nico grumbles, but tucks himself closer to his chest.  Percy can’t help but realize just how frail he feels, trembling against him like a moth with broken wings.

            He finds a CVS shortly after taking the exit and is almost instantly cut off by a zombie in a mailman uniform.  Nico glares feebly at it. “Shoo.”

            The creature doesn’t hear him.  It shambles toward Percy, its mouth wide open.

Percy doesn’t have time for this shit.

            He kicks it firmly in the chest and, still holding Nico close, stomps on its head.  It takes a few go-rounds, but eventually it stops biting his boot. 

            Nico holds onto him as he stomps.  He murmurs against Percy’s neck, “And the Z-Zombie Kill of the Week g-goes to… _Perseus Jackson_.  _Ahh rahhh_ and the crowd goes wild…” He pumps one of his fists a little and continues to make cheering noises as Percy finishes off the zombie.

            Percy smiles wearily and carries him into the CVS.  It’s understandably well picked over.  The most Percy finds is some Robitussin and a bag of cough drops.  He has Nico take some of the medicine and suck on a cough drop as he carries him back out.

            A girl in a silvery rain slicker is sitting on a car out front, watching them patiently.  Around her are three dead zombies, each with an arrow right between their eyes.  She blows some of the fluffy red hair out of her eyes and strides across the parking lot to them. “Thalia sent me to collect you two.”

            Nico slouches against Percy. “Wh-what for?”

            “You owe the Hunters a favor, don’t you?” The girl drags her hand through her hair choppy hair. “It’s time for us to be repaid.” She pulls her bow off her back and wrenches the arrows from the zombies’ heads.  A soft squelch wettens the air with each one.  Grayish sludge drips from the tip of an arrowhead.  She shakes it off a little and notches the last arrow. “You’ll come with me now as you are or later with this in you.” She draws back the arrow and aims it at Percy’s shoulder. “Your choice.”

            Percy grimaces. “Is there another option?” He doesn’t like the idea of being threatened.  If she feels like she has to do that to get them to come, whatever they’re going to can’t be too pleasant.

            “A-arrows are s-so cumbersome when they’re stuck in your body, y’know,” Nico murmurs.

            The girl re-aims it.

            Nico pushes off Percy and stumbles forward. “C’mon, you dork, l-let’s go before she makes you into a porcupine.”

            Percy shuffles forward cautiously. “Where’re we going?”

            “Hunters’ camp.  We just need to talk.” The girl’s readied arrow is really making it seem like they were going to do more than just chat.

            Percy frowns and picks Nico back up before he can fall.  He is at the obvious disadvantage here.  He has no long range weapon currently and it’s clear that this girl is an excellent shot.  Plus, Nico can’t run.  He has his extra weight to hoist around as well as the weight of his machete.

            So, hesitantly, he relents.  He carries Nico over to the girl and sighs softly. “All right, you got us.  Where to?”

            The girl grins and slides behind them, arrow aimed at Percy’s back. “Walmart.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D


	26. Wow She's Still Stalling for the Walmart Bed Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nico and Percy arrive at Walmart. Thalia's got some grave news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Walmart Bed thing will probably happen tomorrow yay

            Nico was only feeling a little bit better after his capful of Robitussin.  However, that might’ve just been because Percy refused to have him walk.  Whatever the case, the color of his skin was beginning to simmer back to its normal tone.  He didn’t have as translucent a quality to him.

            Percy was trying his hardest to ignore the symptoms.  He was doing his best not to focus on the fatigue, the fever, the onset of the cough.  It could’ve been a cold, could’ve been the flu, could’ve been the Plague.  It’s hard to tell in the early stages. 

            But he’s not going to act now.  He can’t make himself.  He looks down at Nico now, his eyes half shut, soft breaths puffing out of his nose, his arms laxly around Percy’s shoulders, head tucked against his collar.  Innocence and exhaustion are painted on his face like a second skin.

            Percy frowns and holds him more securely.  Nico grumbles at him and wiggles a little, his sweaty hair brushing against Percy’s neck.

            “You okay?”

            “Uh-huh.”

            “You sure?”

            “M-hm.  Can I w-walk on my own now?”

            “N-n.”

            The Hunter chirps softly. “Hold on, you two.” She brushes by them and points off the road, into the ditch between the highways.  Squatting there is ghoul, its fingers buried deep in the chest cavity of a recently departed survivor.  Blood and guts tumble from between its teeth.  Percy really thinks it should know by now that eating with its mouth shut is proper etiquette.

            It crams a handful of the meat into its mouth, using its teeth to scrape off its fingers.  Long strands of drool stick to its fingertips. 

            Nico shudders a little. “W-would one of you k-kill it already?”

            The Hunter clucks. “Just a shame.” She notches an arrow and nails the creature between the eyes.  It becomes apparent, now that the creature isn’t gorging itself on human flesh, that it was once a well-to-do woman.  Something glimmers under her filthy hair.  The Hunter knocks some of it aside when she goes to retrieve her arrow. “My mother had those same earrings.”   

            She crosses herself, shoots the other body in the head, and strides back to them. “Let’s go,” she says curtly, keeping her eyes set ahead.

            Percy can tell they’re glassy, though.  He can’t imagine what it must be like to know your mother is gone.  He heart aches for his own mother, kept safe in the camp at Arcade.  He hopes she isn’t too worried about him.

            Then he notices Nico, too, is shaken. 

            He glances down at him. “What’s the matter, Neeks?”

            He shrugs a little and mutters some Italian. “Mi manca mia mamma.” He blinks a little. “E mia sorella.” He pauses. “Le dita erano così sporco, Perseo.  Mi dispiace.” He draws a long sigh before succumbing to a throaty cough.  He buries his face again and doesn’t resurface.

            Percy frowns.  He isn’t sure how, but he knows Nico’s not being entirely truthful with him.  Whatever he just said isn’t everything that’s bothering him.

            But Percy doesn’t rouse him again.  He lets Nico doze brokenly as they walk, bearing his weight with relative ease.  He follows the Hunter for about a mile until they reach the Walmart. 

            All throughout the parking lot are shambling dead.  There’s one fresh body lying in the midst of them.  Though it’s receiving plenty of attention, it’s not enough to distract some of them from the new, living future-hosts just entering the parking lot.

            “I’ll hold down our backs.  You two just keep walking,” the Hunter whispers, readying her bow and focusing on the road behind them. 

            Percy’s about to call “suicide mission” when he notices something.  From the roof of the building, three Hunters appear.  Their arrows fly steadily down, taking down every slow moving ghoul to approach them.  A Rager darts toward them.  Nico growls at it.  The Hunters are scrambling to take care of it, but Nico doesn’t give it the chance.

            As it opens its mouth to take a chunk out of Percy’s cheek, Nico sticks out his hand and places it firmly on its forehead.  He grabs a handful of its hair and makes it look him in the eye.

            “Go _home_ ,” he says.

            It lashes out and grabs at his face.  Nico gives it a firm shake. “Go home!”

            Its eyes glaze over a little.  Percy thinks he might’ve gotten through to it when it crumples, an arrow caught in the back of its head.

            Nico frowns. “I-I thought…” He sighs and hunkers back down.  And then wipes his hand on Percy’s shirt.

            “Hey!”

            “Don’t g-give me that shit, Jackson, I-I just saved your ass.”

            Percy can’t really argue with that.  He hurries along with Nico, flinching as arrows dart by him, until he reaches the door.  It slides open as half a dozen Hunters dispatch, knives in hand, to work to collect the lost arrows.

            Thalia’s waiting for them inside.  She’s not looking so hot.  She’s clearly tired, stress making dark bruises under her eyes stand out horribly.  But she’s also not sick.  That much is clear.

            “It’s about damn time you two got here,” she says, looping an arm around Percy’s shoulders.  She guides him into the bowels of the Walmart.  A ball cage has been turned into a home for the undead; six of them are held there, still shrouded by pink and orange bouncy balls.

            Percy’s about to question it when Thalia says, “Bargaining chips.”

            “Of course.” He has no idea what she means.

            She leads them to the hunting section and sits them down on two folding chairs before the knife display cases.  She sits on top of the cases, shadows thrown across her face by the slats of plastic in the ceiling and a collection of knock-off-brand Yankee Candles burning beside her.

            “I guess I should catch you two up a little, huh?”

            Percy shrugs a little. “That could be nice.”

            She leans forward, her elbows on her knees. “We’ve sent three girls into the CDC 2.0 or whatever.  Only two have come back.” She runs a hand through her ragged hair. “We assume they’re dead.  If not, we only have a few more days to retrieve them.”

            “Why did you—”

            She waves Percy down. “We sent them in because, if it is allowed to stand, this organization will do more harm than good.  Exponentially.  So we’ve tried to disband them from the inside, but…no such luck.  None of our ladies are powerful enough singularly and we can’t get more than one in at a time without arousing suspicion.”

            “So what do you need us for?” Percy asks, raising a brow. “Want us to go in there?  Kill ‘em dead or whatever?”

            Thalia laughs. “We’ll get to that later, Percy.  For now, I want to let you guys in on what we’ve learned.

            “Amazing, crazy research those people do.  They’ve apparently discovered how the Plague’s transmitted.  Saliva-to-blood, mostly, but occasionally saliva-to-saliva and blood-to-blood as well, according to our source.  About time somebody figured that out.

“Apparently, they’ve got a cure on the backburner.  She’s just playing over there.”

            “She?” Percy asks.

            “The main doctor lady.  Bengele.” She sneers. “She’s got a lot going on over there, most of which is _not at all_ for the betterment of humanity.  Mostly she’s just got lot of really sick experiments.  Now, I’m against the undead as anybody, but even _I_ think she’s going to cruel lengths over there.”

            Nico raises a brow as Percy asks, “What do you mean?”

            “Well, they _were_ people, you know?” She shrugs. “Bengele just doesn’t see it like that.  According to Bailey, she surgically connected one of them to a living person in order to see if the Plague would spread.” She shivers.

“Some of the limited useful stuff we discovered is that the Plague won’t spread until incubation is complete and the virus has killed the host, that the Mor-6—er, the Rage Virus—ones can run about five times faster than the normal ones and lastly the Mor-6 ones seem to target those they remembered fondest in life.”

            Nico gazes at his lap, hair in his face.  Percy doesn’t have to see his face to know he’s trying not to cry.

            She glances back up at them. “We learned something else of interest as well.  It’s actually why we called on you two.”

            Percy frowns a little. “And what’s that?”

            “According to Bailey, one of you can talk to the dead.” Both of them went rigid.

“And Bengele wants you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> iDK when this story's going to end tbh
> 
> ALSO   
> Hella angsty stuff on the horizon prepare yourselves


	27. Walmart Bed at Last Do You Hate Me or What

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaaa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo.

Percy doesn’t even think. “It’s me.” He sits up a little. “It’s me,” he repeats.  Nico’s looking at him from the corner of his eye, urgency on his face.

            He wants to yell at him.  He wants to yell “Do _not_ protect me, you dolt!” but he can’t make himself.  He’s shocked.

            Thalia raises her brows, surprised. “Really?  Huh.  Let’s put that to the test, why don’t we?” She grabs Percy’s arm and tugs him along to the gardening section of the Walmart.  The door is shut securely, held in place with a chain and heavy duty combination lock.  Two Hunters on standby quickly unlock the door.

            Thalia shoves Percy inside and fastens the chains back behind him. “Tell them to stop before they reach you.”

            He doesn’t have time to question her before a half dozen zombies come lurching toward him.  He stands on one of the cash register desks and draws Riptide, staring down at them.

            “St-stop!”

            They’re not really listening.  One grabs his leg and tries to drag it to its mouth.

            He kicks himself free and hacks into its head.  It takes a few shots before the skull gives and the creature slumps.  But by then, two more already have a hold on him.

            “Stop!  Uh, go home!  Stop!”

            Zombies have zero respect for Percy Jackson.

            Nico’s pulled himself to the gate.  He rests wearily against it and calls in a soft, calm voice, “Go home, you guys.  Leave Percy alone.”

            Three of them obey.  The remaining two look uncertain, like thought is working in their minds for the first time since infection.

            Percy uses that time to crush their skulls.

            Nico smiles a little.  He glances at the others. “Fight.”

            The three remaining regard each other for a split second before they begin ruthlessly ripping into one anothers’ stomachs and necks.

            Nico tugs at the chain softly. “Please l-let Percy out now.”

            The Hunters look shaken.  They look to Thalia for instruction.

            Even _she_ looks a little taken aback.

            Nico glares. “L-let him out or those ‘bargaining chips’ of yours a-are going to find their way out of the ball cage.”

            Thalia shakes her head a little. “Let him out,” she says, running a hand through her hair.

            Percy passes the fighting zombies without much trouble.  As soon as he’s out, Nico wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls him close.  He stands on his tip toes and whispers into his ear, “D-don’t you _ever_ d-do anything like that a-again, you idiot.” His voice is shakier than he’d like.  He buries his face against his neck.

            Percy smiles a little and rubs his back. “No promises, Neeks.  I gotta keep you safe, don’t I?”

            Nico just holds on tighter.

            Thalia touches Percy’s shoulder.  Her face is pallid and tired. “We had to be sure,” she says. “I’m sorry to have put you in that situation, but…it’s very important we have our facts straight.  There are two girls’ lives on the line, you know.” Her expression is etched with worry.

            Percy wishes he could be angrier at her.  He really does.  But he can’t.  Every time he tries, he remembers that those girls are people too.  They’ve got friends here, maybe even sisters here, and they’re loved.  They have as much a claim to life as anyone.

            He can’t blame her for being thorough.

            But he doesn’t like what this means for Nico.

            The boy’s shuddering against him now, a cough tearing out of his throat.

            The Hunters take a step away.  One of them glances at Nico fearfully. “Has he been bitten?”

            Percy shakes his head and gathers Nico closer. “Of course not.  Neeks just caught a cold.” Nico nuzzles closer.  Percy grins. “Just because it’s the apocalypse doesn’t mean the sniffles have died out.”

            The Hunter smiles nervously.

            Thalia glances over them and bites her lip. “I’d hate to do this, but…Nico, can I talk with you a moment?”

            Nico glances over and wipes at his mouth.  He nods a little and shuffles over to her.

            “Girls, show Percy to a bed for the evening.  Get him something to eat and let him be, all right?”

            A few of the Hunters mumble assent and lead Percy off into a row of candlelit aisles.  Percy thinks that, if it weren’t for the disarray of everything, the undeads’ grumbles coming from, well, everywhere, and the fact that this was a Walmart, this would be a nice romantic setting.  Plus, he thinks the candlelight will be better for Nico’s eyes than the harsh afternoon glare outside.

            The Hunters guide him to a mattress arranged in the back corner of the warehouse.  Candles and lanterns provide enough dull light for him to see the folded blankets at the foot of the mattress and the opened can of ravioli waiting for him.  Percy frowns a little and takes a seat. “Will you guys show Nico back here?”

            “Once Thalia’s done with him, we’ll see,” one of the Hunters replies.  She looks him over, maybe with concern, maybe with contempt, and begins shepherding the others out.

            Percy settles in, shifting anxiously, and nibbles on the raviolis.  Once he polishes off half the can, he explores.

            He’s on the lookout for medicine.

 

            Nico understands the plan.  He knows what he has to do.  But he has a few things to clarify first.

            “Y-you’ll get him to camp safely?”

            “We’ll do everything in our power to get him there, yes.”

            “Y-you won’t let him do any dumb shit?”

            Thalia grins. “You can’t really stop Percy from doing dumb shit, now can you?”

            “G-good point.”

            “But we’ll do our best to make sure everything goes by without incident if you ensure you’ll get our girls out.”

            “A-and maybe stop Bengele.”

            “Well, yes.”

            Nico nods a little and sighs softly. “A-all right.  All right, d-deal.”

            “We’ll be escorting you first thing in the morning.  Rest well.” She offers a smile and stands.

            Nico has one more question. “W-wait.  Are you _sure_ there’s n-no way people c-can get sick from others?  L-like, during the incubation period.”

            Thalia frowns. “I think direct contact with blood will do it, but otherwise…no.  Why do you ask?”

            Nico shrugs a little. “C-curiosity.” He stands and, after receiving directions, heads toward Percy.

            But first, he drops by a few aisles.

 

            Percy’s found a few rolls of bandages, a whole legion of Pepto-Bismol and a bunch of prescription pain meds long ago expired.  But nothing of actual _use._

            He sighs, hunkering down on the mattress and watching the ceiling.  He’s bored.

            He picks at some of the flaking leather on his sleeve until Nico comes shambling in, looking exhausted and anxious.  He sits heavily beside Percy, his breath coming in wheezes.

            Wheezes are not good.

            Percy bites his lip. “You okay?”

            Nico nods a little.

            Percy offers a smile. “Do you want some ravioli?” He holds up the can and shakes it temptingly.

            Nico grins wanly and shakes his head. “N-no thanks.  N-not hungry.”

            Percy’s stomach drops.  Loss of appetite is another symptom.

            Nico leans against him. “Th-they want me to go in and g-get their girls.”

            Percy shakes his head. “You…you can’t do that, Neeks.  They’ll kill you.” His guys twist up at the thought.

            Nico doesn’t say anything for a while.  He watches his lap, shivering slightly.  Finally, he says, “K-kiss me, please.”

            Percy’s not sure why he asked the way he did, but he doesn’t hesitate.  

Nico grabs at the sides of his face, pulling him close quicker.  He presses his overwarm chest against Percy’s, his hands still pressed on the curves of his jaw.  He releases a little, hungry whine and crawls onto Percy’s lap, straddling it and tucking his knees against the sides of his hips.

            Nico’s apparently dug into his energy reserves.

            He pulls away from a stunned Percy’s mouth to suck in a breath and kiss his jaw.  His fingers dance lithely over Percy’s cheek and the taut side of his neck as he leaves a dangerously obvious hickey right at the base of his jaw.  Percy’s murmuring encouragements to him, his eyes mostly shut, a hand on the small of Nico’s back.

            Nico reaches his ear and stops a moment, panting, and plants a hand on Percy’s sternum.  He nuzzles the side of his head a little and murmurs to him, “Y-you know what, to hell with running.”

            Percy blinks. “Wh-what?”

            Nico kisses his temple and leans against him. “I found some c-condoms.  There’s a box of them in my pocket.” He shuts his eyes and snuggles into his chest. “Please, Percy.” The candlelight dances over his face and makes his skin look almost ruddy again.

            Percy’s not the type to look a gift horse in the mouth.  He plunges his hand into Nico’s pocket, kisses him hard, and slides between his legs.

 

            It’s not until they’ve finished that Percy notices something’s wrong.  Nico was definitely scratching at his back, but…there were definitely no scratch marks left behind.  Nico had pushed his face away when he tried to speckle his skin with loving little bites.  Nico had moaned and quivered most when he was rough, but always commanded him to be gentler.

            Percy sits up a little, looking down at Nico with concern.  Nico looks back up at him, his sweaty hair in his eyes.

            “Nico.”

            He nods a little.

            “Why’d you…” He sits up a little, watching the wall.

            Nico tucks himself against his side, staying prone.

            Percy forces out the entire question. “Why’d you agree to go?  You know…you know they’ll kill you.”

            Nico hugs him around the waist. “I-it’s the only w-way I might live, P-Percy.”

            Percy can feel it now.  Earlier, when they were walking and Nico was holding onto him, the leather sleeve prevented him from feeling it.  Now that that was gone and the only thing shrouding his arm were the flannel shirts, Percy could feel the distinct roughness of gauze on Nico’s forearm.

            “B-Bianca,” he murmurs, resting his head against Percy’s hip.

            Saliva to blood, Thalia had said.

            “What about her?” Percy murmurs.

            Percy remembers what they’d seen earlier that day.  The zombie lady eating on the side of the road.  The drool on her fingernails.

            “Sh-she scratched me, r-r-remember?”

            Percy almost faints.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wooooo
> 
> So like yeah sorry I don't like writing explicit sex scenes cos like I just don't
> 
> The imagination typically works better than anything else when it comes to erotica ;D


	28. WOW OKAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But tell me now   
> Where was my fault?   
> In loving you  
> With all my heart
> 
> c:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR YOUR ENCOURAGEMENT LIKE HOLY CRAP YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING :*

            “I-I’m not long f-for this world, y’know.”

            Percy’s staring at the wall, his jaw lax.

            Nico hugs his waist tighter. “Th-thanks for taking care of me and shit.”

            Percy’s about fifteen seconds away from sobbing.  He’s going to lose Nico.  Either to Bengele or to the Plague, he’s going to lose him.  How long have they known each other?  The day in Central Park seems years ago.  There was no way they could’ve just teamed up only a week or so ago.  There was just no way.

            Nico’s so tired.  He rests his head against Percy’s thigh and nuzzles it a little. “I-I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, I…” He closes his eyes a little. “I-I wasn’t sure until th-this morning.  I-I…” He stifles a yawn.

            Percy’s having a hard time wrapping his mind around this.  Nico wasn’t going to die.  Right?  Percy looks down at him.  He looks plenty alive.  Sick, yes, but alive.  He’s breathing.  His eyes are bright and aware.  His hair still has a healthy gloss to it. 

            Percy tries to pace his thoughts.  Nico has about two more days left.  He knows that for sure.  The Plague is a cruel mistress.  It doesn’t just kill you.  It makes you wait to die.

            The whole process takes 5 days.  It starts with cold/flu like symptoms that slowly become worse.  Eventually, the fatigue, fever and cough be joined with loss of appetite, body-wracking shakes, lack of control over bodily functions and, eventually, coughing up blood and bile.  Then the host begins to refuse water, like a rabid animal.  They begin to lose their minds from dehydration and disease until, eventually, either from thirst, hunger or otherwise, they die.  It’s only then that they’re reanimated.

            Nico is already on loss of appetite.  The shakes are about to start.  Percy could already feel them jittering their way into the tips of Nico’s fingers.  They prattle against his flank.

            Nico takes a deep breath, biting down on a cough before it can escape him. “I-I’m sorry I-I asked you to d-do… _that_ w-with me…” He sniffles. “I-I know, I’m s-sick.  Ph-physically and mentally.  I-I just…” He squeezes his eyes shut.

            Percy shakes himself out of his state of bafflement.  He pulls Nico up against his chest and plants a kiss in the rat’s nest of his hair. “You’re not sick,” Percy mumbles, holding him close.  He’d be lying if he said he didn’t intentionally angle Nico’s mouth away from his skin for a moment.  The instinctual fear is just too great.  Then he remembers Thalia’s words.  That Nico would be harmless until he was dead and gone.  The words “dead and gone” still didn’t go with the name “Nico” in his mind.  Percy closes his eyes tight.

            Nico presses a kiss to the bare skin of his chest and tucks his sore legs between them.  He shakes his head a little and mutters a dry laugh. “J-Jackson, I’ve known I-I was sick in the head f-for a long time.  D-don’t patronize me just because I-I’m sick in the body now too.” Nico looks up at him and cracks a sympathetic smile. “O-oh, c’mon.  D-don’t do that.”

            Percy recognizes the tears on his cheeks only when Nico brushes them away. “I-if you cry, I’m g-gonna cry, and then the H-Hunters are gonna think we’re p-pussies.  D-don’t…” But he’s already started up as well.

            Percy grins wanly. “L-looks like they’re gonna think w-we’re pussies.”

            “Sh-shit.” Nico wipes at his face with his sleeves as he hiccups out a sob. “I-I’m sorry.  I-I should’ve told you wh-when I figured it o-out, just…” He hiccups a sob.  He’s shaking horribly now.

            Percy waits for the “just”.

            When it comes, it’s softer than a baby bird’s down. “I-I was scared.”

            Percy can’t fault him in that.  The whole situation is terrifying.  The thought of your body losing control of itself, of it rebelling against itself, tearing itself apart from the nervous system to the respiratory system to the digestive tract to the very inner-workings of the brain.  Knowing that speaking up would mean the only companion you had left, the one you claimed to love intensely, would have to kill you against his will and in a way that would destroy all memory of your face.  Knowing that keeping it a secret left two options: Eventual suicide or putting your lover in danger.  Knowing that the only chance for survival left laid in the bowels of an organization bent on experimentation and prolonging the inevitability of death and infection.

            And knowing that all of this was happening because of your beloved only sister.

            Percy hugs him tighter.  No, he can’t fault him for not saying anything.  He only wishes he could do more to help him.

            Nico’s kicking himself.  He’s kicking himself over so many things.  He’s kicking himself over being too afraid to act when Bianca had lashed out at him.  He’s kicking himself for not keeping her with him back in New York City.  He’s kicking himself for involving Percy in this relationship when he’s on death’s door, for forcing skinny love onto him.  He’s kicking himself for ever promising Mama they’d find a way to survive without her.  For promising to keep Bianca safe.  For everything.

            He buries his face against Percy’s collar and forces himself to calm down.

            After a few long minutes of silence, Percy recognizes he should probably start worrying about himself.  Could he get sick from this?  Blood and spit couldn’t get him sick at this stage, apparently, but what about _this_?  What they had just done?  

            Then he realizes something.  _Condoms_.  Nico probably didn’t know if he could’ve gotten sick either, but he’d thought ahead.  He was wondering why those were strictly necessary.

            But that left one question.

            “Wh-why did you let me have sex with you?” Percy realizes as he says it just how hurtful it sounds, but he can’t think of another way to phrase it.

            Nico seems to understand what he’s asking.  He wants to respond with something that will live up to his usual snark, like, “Well, I didn’t realize it was _that_ much of a chore” or “Are you _really_ complaining?”

            But now isn’t the time for that.

            He tucks his head against the curve of Percy’s neck.  If he’s got to be honest with him, he’s going to make sure nobody but Percy hears.  No Hunters entering the room, no creatures mulling about outside.  Just Percy.

            “T-to be honest, Percy, I…I w-wanted you to h-have everything I-I have to offer.  I-I tried to g-give you my protection while w-we were traveling, c-companionship y-you _clearly_ needed, s-somebody to worry over so you w-wouldn’t worry y-yourself so much.” Nico lifts a shoulder. “I-it was all I h-had left to give.” He closes his eyes.  He doesn’t try to force any affection on Percy; doesn’t try to steal a kiss or press his face against his neck or even tangle his hands in his hair.  He just keeps his arms around his shoulders and keeps himself still.  He releases a soft sigh. “A-and I wanted you to have it.”

            Percy’s too shocked to say anything.  He just glances down at Nico, the shaking bundle in his lap, and recognizes just how precious he is.

            Nico gave him a shield of protection, a friend, a confidant, and, as he’s coming to realize now, something to love.  He gave him a definite in an indefinite world.  Except, now, the permanency of him is bleeding away.  He’s becoming indefinite, wavering under the weight of incurable disease.  It’s so unreal to Percy.  It was like a brick, something he was sure was solid and withstanding, was suddenly sliding between his fingers like sand.

            He clings to Nico now. 

Nico peeps a little, wiggling in protest. “G-God, Percy, d-don’t snap me in h-half, sh-shit.”

            Percy buries his face in Nico’s hair.  Suddenly it’s essential he knows what Nico smells like. 

            Sweat.  Sex.  Both givens, granted their recent activity, but those aren’t the smells of Nico.  Those are the smells of Nico and Percy.

He doesn’t need that right now.

Beneath the aforementioned, he picks up the distinct musk of magnolia.  Fresh cut grass, freshly turned earth.  Fresh rain, morning dew.

Percy decides that, in the best possible way, Nico smells naturally of a funeral.

The irony’s enough to make a sob twist the muscles of his stomach into a Celtic knot.  He presses another kiss to his hair and unabashedly cries into it.

Nico allows him to for a few moments.  He hums softly to him, murmuring nothings every now and again, his voice shaking as much as his body.  Finally, though, he has to pull away.  He looks Percy in the eye, making his brow go hard.

“L-listen up, Jackson.  Th-this is important.  I-if I die, a-and become one of _them_ , I-I’ll be one of the R-Ragers.  I-I’ll try to come after you.”

            Thalia’s words bounce back to Percy. _The Mor-6ers tend to attack those they remembered fondest_.

            Another sob is welling in the back of his throat.

            Nico snaps his fingers. “F-focus, Jackson.

            “I-I’ll try to come after you.  D-don’t do what I did.  D-don’t hesitate, d-deliberate a-and _don’t_ try to th-think optimistically.  K-kill me.”

            A whole new volley of tears now.

            Nico grabs his chin like a mother would a disobedient toddler. “H-hear me?  I-if I t-try to bite you o-or scratch y-you or _anything_ , k-kill me.”

            Percy nods a little, still looking him in the eye.

            “I-if,” Nico continues, taking in a deep breath, “a-and this is a big _if_ , I survive, I-I’ll greet you w-with a phrase.  I-I dunno what yet, b-but—”

            “Y-yell _‘Hey shithead’_.”

            Nico gives him an odd look. “Y-you want me to say that to you?”

            Percy nods. “I-I’d be glad t-to be insulted by you.  I-it would mean you were a-alive.”

            Nico smiles a wobbly smile and says, “F-fine, y-you shithead.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a horrible person, right
> 
> Love me


	29. So Much Is Happening and I Am Rightfully Afraid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy finally loses it. Nico shares his zombie whispering secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wooOWOOOW ok
> 
> So I think there's going to be two endings to this ngl. One's gonna be like "yay snuggles" and the other's going to be like "okay why would you do that you suck".  
> I guess lemme know which one you'd like to see first??  
> Heck, what I have in plan might not even be the END. It might just be "eyyy this happened" and then it moves on because other things need to be resolved.   
> So I guess it's more like a "here's what happened" and a "here's what could've happened" deal.   
> Woo. 
> 
> That helped me work a lot out. 
> 
> ANYWAYS.   
> I DON'T LIKE THIS CHAPTER MUCH AT ALL.

Two years previous:

            Sally held a bowl of batter against her hip as she watched the tiny TV in the apartment’s tiny kitchen.  She’d never seen anything quite like this before.

            Somewhere in Europe, she had missed where, an employee of a CDC unit was fired for apparently instituting “cruel and unusual” means to his work.  Apparently, there were causalities involved, though they announced little else.

            However, the reporters expressed fear over this potentially becoming an incredibly effective and dangerous biological weapon.

            “The employee who created this nasty virus, an Orcus—”

            Percy came in then, groaning about a math test, and Sally quickly turned off the TV.  She knew how Percy tended to blow this sort of thing out of proportion.  She didn’t want him prepping for the apocalypse again (aka filling a backpack with canned soup and sitting by the door with a knife in his belt, muttering about their “escape plan” until he got tired and took a nap). 

By the end of dinner, Sally had forgotten about the news, the CDC story, all of it.  Which was all right.  Orcus What’s-His-Name and co. wouldn’t become relevant for a couple more years.

 

Present:

            Nico left early the next morning.  Percy had tried to go with him, just to escort him, but the Hunters hadn’t allowed him.  They were traveling in a trio and were afraid that even one more would make them more noticeable.

            Percy had opened his mouth to argue, but Nico had quickly silenced him.  He grabbed the collar of his shirt, tugged him down to his level, and gave him a kiss hard enough to make their teeth clack.

            One of the Hunters sniggered.

            Nico pulled away first and patted Percy’s cheek. “See y-you in a few days, shithead.”

            Percy had smiled, but his eyes felt watery.  He sniffled. “See ya, cocksucker.”

            Nico blushed, gave him a little shove and fidgeted with his jacket.  He then tucked something in Percy’s pocket, muttered a goodbye quietly and then, even quieter, muttered an “I love you”, before he was gone, stumbling through shakes between two Hunters.

 

            Percy walks between two of them now, barely listening to their jabbering about directions and distances, his fingers brushing over the smooth surface of the ring Nico had left in his pocket.  It’s a little skull ring, the glimmer of it fogged by dirty silver and the obvious wear the ring has seen. 

            He’s so distracted by the ring that he doesn’t even notice the gates of the Arcade Camp just over the horizon.

            In fact, he doesn’t until one of the Hunters gasps.  He looks up to see the fences toppled, the huts in ruin, and bodies lying on the ground twitching into reanimation.

            Suddenly the warmth of Nico’s skin, the taste of his mouth, the feel of his body, the lilt of his laugh, the light of his eyes, are all forgotten.  In his panic, Percy can only think one word.

            “A-Annabeth.”

            He charges forward, Riptide drawn, and screams.

 

            Nico looks around.  There’s a rope in his mouth, of which he is not a fan.  Not a great welcome to the facility.  Regardless, he expects the rope will be the most pleasant thing he’ll experience for a few days and, in a strange way, he savors it.

            The CDC 2.0 is _not_ what he expected at all.

            He expected a clean organization.  He expected mentally intact (or at least appearing so) individuals everywhere, all of which dressed in perfect white scrubs, faceless behind surgical masks and hair nets, speaking medical to each other in rapid-fire, sterilized voices.  All bickering over specimens in stainless steel rooms that smelt of rubbing alcohol and formaldehyde.

            This is very far from what he got.

            The inside of the CDC 2.0 is ill-lit.  The staff dress in civilian clothes with worn surgical masks covering their mouths.  All of their hair is sheered short, but not netted.  They speak slang fluently to each other, their words tumbling over each other unintelligibly (or maybe they’re intelligible, Nico thinks, but he’s just started to lose it). 

The walls are covered with desperate nail marks and sharpie marker graffiti.  One person had written in beautiful cursive over a doorway “ _Abandon hope all ye who enter here_ ”.

            Nico buries his nose in Percy’s flannel as they pull him under it.

            Two guards flank him.  His mouth, in addition to having a rope in it, is duct taped shut.  He can’t blame them for that.  After all, when they “caught him” outside their facility, he was talking two zombies into a gentle waltz (he reminded himself hat, at some point, he’d have to tell Percy that he got zombies to dance).

            “O-one, two, three, o-one, two, three, a-and spin, and _twirl_ ,” he’d been saying, sitting beside them, completely unscathed as they dipped and swayed arrhymthically with one another. 

            Shortly afterwards, the guards shot them in the head and hurried out to collect Nico.

            That was only about five minutes ago, and he’s already losing his nerve.  The place is terrifying and a complete labyrinth of halls and connecting rooms and labs.  There’s less security than he expected, which is good, but where they lack in manpower, they make up for in confusing layout.  He was already hopelessly lost.

            The guards thrust him into a room and shut the door behind him.  He stumbles and falls to his knees, shakily trying to stand up.  He coughs hard and something warm begins to rise in his throat.  Blood drips from his lips.

Two strong hands grab his arms and hoist him to his feet.  The owner of the hands begins to tear away his clothes.

            Nico peeps and tries to squirm away.  He needs to keep Percy’s flannel.  It smells of him.  He needs a security blanket as encompassing as that sweet ocean aroma.

            But, soon, that too is gone.

            He glances up to see the man above him scoffing at the crude dressing on his arm.  He unravels the gauze to expose the inflamed scratch marks racing up his forearm.  He comments about it into a headset and finishes undressing Nico.

Nico winces as he wrenches him forward, now completely naked, and situates him under a shower head.  His hands are secured in metal cinches, crusted with something Nico just knows is dried meat.  He squirms as best he can, but his whole body is weak (and his legs still feel mostly worthless, thanks Percy).

            The water starts up in a cold, pressurized stream.  It plasters his hair to his head and makes him try to grit his teeth.  It hurts.

            From his back, another hose sprays him down.  This one’s water is softer, but it’s still ice cold.  He squirms in pain and embarrassment, doing his best to hide from slaps of water.

            Soap is scrubbed all over his body.  It smells industrial and feels gritty as sand.  He closes his eyes and braces himself for the hard streams of water that wash it away.

            Once they’re done spraying him down, he’s dressed in an all-white smock and forced to his feet.  They drag him a few halls over and into a room before removing his gag.

            He spits out frays from the rope.

            “How far along are you?”

            He looks up to see the first mildly doctoral person yet.  A graying man in scrubs.

Only a little better than nothing.

            “‘How f-far along a-am I’?  Wh-what am I, pregnant?” he sputters, tugging at the binds around his wrists.

            The man isn’t ruffled.  He just says pleasantly, “According to our Washers, you were scratched.  How long ago was that, sir?”

            “Y-you call them Washers?  L-like, the little metal things?”

            “Please work with us, sir.  You will be a valuable asset, and we’d like to preserve you, but we cannot if you don’t answer our questions concisely.  All right?”

            After a long moment, Nico nods. “I w-was scratched about…th-three, four days ago.”

            The man jots down a note. “And what’s your full name, sir?”

            Nico decides it’s time to come clean. “D-do you not recognize me?”

            The man frowns a little.  He peers at him. “You _do_ look like…”

Nico wishes he’d told Percy, but there hadn’t really been a time he thought appropriate. 

            It was about time he told _somebody_ ,though.  Sure, they might not recognize him from his father’s likeness, especially as it was when it was displayed on the news, but they would certainly know his name.

            Nico thinks back to the Before, when his family was living on the compound back in Italy.  When he’d play with the subjects.

            They nipped at him, sure, but it just took time for them to realize he was their friend.  He’d talk with them in a special tone of voice he spent hours cultivating and, eventually, perfecting, until they started to obey him.

            They always listened to that tone.  Always recognized prominent words like “home”, “go” and “stop”.  When spoken to them the correct way, of course.  The way Nico had discovered.

            The graying man furrows his brow. “But…”

            “I-I’m Nico di Angelo.” He sits up a little, grasping at straws for dignity. “Y-you might just know my father’s n-name, though.  O-Orcus di Angelo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've actually had this planned out for Nico for like half the time I've been writing this but completely forgot to drop hints along the way except for complete and total lack of mention of a father figure?
> 
> That was lazy and I'm sorry   
> <3 
> 
> I couldn't find any information on whether or not CDC employees live on site, so I just sort of assumed yes because, dunno, it seems sensible? Woo.


	30. More of the Past and Camp Predicaments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Past Nico terrifies his mother. Frank muses like a frickin' pessimist. Percy's probably lost it. Present Nico is bled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's even happening here
> 
> I'll try to lengthen chapters ASAP btw cos I feel they've been hella short lately and that just isn't cool

Two and a Half Years Previous:

 

            Nico was bored.  His mother was cooking dinner, his sister was with friends and his father was back in the labs.  There was _nobody_ to play with.

He glanced at his stack of Mythomagic cards and frowned.  It’s not that he didn’t adore the game.  It’s not that he didn’t want to play it.  It’s just…

            There was something much more interesting outside.

            He grabbed his cards, pulled on his jacket and hurried down the steps to the Garden.  His father had dropped off a few more yesterday.  He hadn’t seen them yet, but he assumed they were as spectacular as the rest.  

            The Garden had quickly become his favorite place.  It was so full of life.  Sure, the flowers could use to be cut back a little.  Their smell was beginning to be a little overpowering.  But he guessed that was the point.  Those inside smelled awful after a little while.

            The Garden had a high fence around it, one made of brick and mortar.  The sliding gate was password protected, but Nico had figured it out.  He was smart for a twelve year old.

            Quickly, he tapped in the number and stood back as the gate slid open, revealing the calm meadow beyond it.  Nico excitedly rushed in, a massive grin on his face.

            The new occupants were as amazing as he expected.  They weren’t as dirty as the other ones.

            There were only three new ones.  A man, a woman and a kid about his age.  They looked up at him as soon as the door slid shut.

            The man took real interest first.

            It looked at Nico with those frosted glass eyes, its mouth hanging open.  Drool dripped over its lips.  It began to groan and shuffle toward Nico, the others following in suit.

            Nico beamed. “Hi, guys!”

            The child stumbled in with the rest.

            Nico stepped forward to meet the man before the five others caught up to it.  He smiled up at it and said, simply, “Sit.”

            The man dropped to its knees.  Nico pet his greasy hair and looked up at the others. “Sit.”

            The rest toppled over each other to obey him.

            Nico heard his name being called from outside the Garden, but he ignored it.  Whatever it was, it could wait.  It was playtime now.

            He plopped himself down a few feet in front of them and held out his Mythomagic cards. “Okay, guys, I brought a game today.  Who wants to play?”

            The child leaned forward and snapped its teeth at him.  Fearlessly, Nico reached out and pat its head. “I’ll teach you in just a second.  Let me show you the cards first!”

            As he started laying them out, the door behind him slid open.  His mother rushed in.  She stared in horror at the scene before her.

The zombies gazed at her and began to groan, raising to their feet and shambling forward.  Maria gave a shriek and pulled Nico out of the enclosure with him complaining the whole time.

            “Mama!  Stop!  You’re embarrassing me in front of my friends!” he groaned.  Some of his favorite cards were still in there.  He squirmed to get them back.

            Maria placed him on the ground beside the wall.  She grabbed his shoulders and gave him a curt shake.  Nico was just now noticing how pale his mother looked.  Her hair was disheveled—Mama’s hair was _never_ disheveled—and her skin had taken on a ghostly pallor.

            The creatures in the garden had begun to claw at the wall, hissing and groaning and gumming at the door.  They banged their fists against the brick and bustled.  They were certainly feeling gipped.  That was a sure meal if there ever was one.

            Nico was gazing back at the door when his mother grabbed his chin and had him look at her. “Nico!  You must _not_ go in there!  Do you hear me?  Never!” She was shaking horribly as she pulled him forward and kissed his head. “Those are very sick people.  You cannot get near them.  They’ll get you sick, too.”

            Nico frowned and wiggled out of her embrace. “But…they’re my friends, Mama.”

            Maria shook her head. “They’re not your friends, _il mio bambino_.  They can’t have friends.  They’re dead.”

 

Present:

 

            Frank peers down from his perch on the roof.  Nothing’s improved and it’s been nearly five days.  The camp is still totally swarmed by a ravenous horde of the, eh, more _enthusiastic_ type of zombie.  The majority of New York City’s evacuated survivors are still cooped up in the mess hall beneath him.  They’ve barely made a dent in the horde and there are still more arriving every day.  They’re moving differently, shoving other, slower ones out of their way.  They run toward the mess hall with unadulterated passion for prey.  They’re not like the other ghouls (girls).

            Frank’s not sure what to do.

            Leo has offered repeatedly to extend his help in the pyrotechnics department, but it hasn’t proved practical yet.  The fire would more likely cook those in the metal mess hall alive than take care of the dead.  It’d take too long for them to burn, too, and even if it was successful, then what?  They had no way to put the fires out.  How would they escape?  They were in the middle of dry plains and forests.  And, somehow, if the fire managed to not destroy everything and die out on their own, there was still the whole zombie problem.  The light and heat were more likely to draw even more of them.

            So would it be fun to toss a few Molotov cocktails into a congregation of the walking dead?  Hell yeah.  But would it prove conducive?  Most likely not.

            They idea is being tossed around to open the doors below and allow the armed survivors to knock down anything that pushes its way through, but that has plenty of glitches as well.  If one happened to make it through, for instance, it would just infect others.  Then the problem of friendly fire arises, matched with the finite source of ammo and the incredible amount of skill it would take to get a headshot every time.  The plan had too many holes, but it was still the best they had. 

            Frank sighs and looks out at the field beneath them.  He’s almost out of arrows.  They’d had dozens, hundreds stockpiled, but now he was down to a mere eighteen.  His others were protruding from the skulls of scattered bodies all around the campground. 

            Something new is breaching the horizon.  And it’s screaming.

            He has _never_ seen one scream before.  Frowning, he picks up his binoculars and zeroes in on the screamer.

            His face lights up.

            It’s Percy, his machete drawn, his clothes blood-free, and his face pulled down into a warrior’s scowl.  He buries his machete in a loping deadie’s head and shoulders by another one, fighting with more ferocity than he’d ever seen from him.

            He calls down to those below through the hole in the roof. “Percy’s back!”

            Annabeth looks up, heartbreak on her face. “He’s not…one of those, is he?”

            Frank shakes his head. “Not yet.  But he might be if we don’t send some people out to help him.”

            Annabeth draws a shaky breath and pulls her Yankee cap over her hair. “Get a team out there.  _Now_.”

 

            Nico winces.  How much blood do they need to draw?  He feels lightheaded.  When was the last time he ate?  He can’t remember.  There are vague memories of gruel being forced down his throat, the foggiest remembrance of a capful of water, but nothing else.  He can’t make himself want any food now.  Water’s even beginning to lose its hold on him.  His throat doesn’t want to be quenched.  He just wants to lay down and think about Percy.

            Oh, Percy. 

            He remembers him in the Before, when he was genuinely happy, even if he didn’t know Nico existed.  He remembers him with his clean clothes and his worriless face, with the full light of happiness still burning in his eyes.  He remembers Percy with his mind still on things like swim practice and college and, rarely, homework.  He remembers him for the happy times, even if he was excluded from them, because Percy wasn’t.  Because Percy would’ve remembered times like that if he were in this situation.  

            Another needle, this one connected to an IV, is forced into his wrist.  He musters the energy to wince and clench his fists.

            “Just wait, di Angelo.  We’ll have you ready in a jiffy.”

            This is not reassuring. “Ready” meant “ready for more tests”.

            All over his neck and arms are bleeding bite marks and hungry scratches.  He spent the day being a test dummy for carriers of some twist on the Mor-6 virus.  He doesn’t know why they need did this to him, why they needed to, but it doesn’t matter. 

            The IV is beginning to pump nourishment back into him.  The IV would bring salvation from immediate ascent to the doors of death.  It would prevent him from dying, if only for a little while.  He knows it.

            He closes his eyes and dreams of Percy as blood begins to pool around his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm really mean to nico


	31. Percy, You Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BE MAD AT HIM.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it's clear by my vocabulary choices that I'm reading the Zombie Survival Guide right now 
> 
> This is really short and I'm sorry fjkndmsa,mdknjf thinking of stuff to write is hard
> 
> haidjedsfjdmzd
> 
> Also I really hope you guys pick up on some of the HoH references in there cos like I tried my best to incorporate them well
> 
> If I can, I'll try to update again later this evening, but I really need to work on my actual book thingies at some point. So we'll have to wait and see I guess?

            Jason elbows a ghoul out of the way. “Percy!” he shouts, jogging toward him as quickly as he can. “Percy!  We’re in the mess!  Percy!”

            Percy wheels and glares back toward him.  His expression softness almost instantly.  He decimates the skull of a zombie rushing toward him. “You guys are okay?”

            Jason grins. “For now!” He grabs Percy by the arm and starts racing back with him.  Others are collecting arrows as snipers from the roof do their best to keep them safe.  Percy and Jason rush toward the mess hall as quickly as they possibly can, stumbling over bodies and still-grasping hands as they go.

            As soon as they reach the doors, they’re grabbed by those waiting inside. 

            Percy is instantly snatched up by Annabeth.  She hugs him with an unmatchable intensity for a few long seconds before pulling away, looking him over, and saying, “Y-you jackass, wh-where’ve you been?”

            He breaks out in a grin and wraps his arms around her again. “Trying to get back to you.”

 

            Bengele looks over the reports. “He’s not succumbing to it very easily, is he?”

            The technician shakes his head.

            “You have to wonder if his father infused him with some sort of cure back when he was working on the virus.”

            The technician remains silent.

            Bengele stares into the observation room.  The boy seated inside is shying from a bowl of water being offered him.  His neck and side are patched up messily, zigzags of prickly sutures holding his wounds together.  But not holding them together securely enough to prevent leakage.  His pale skin is streaked with fine lines of blood.

            He’s murmuring to himself.  His eyes have taken on a glaze.  The water in front of him is pushed forward a little.  It splashes on him.  He yelps and flinches, his mouth opening in a quiet hiss.

            In his mind, he sees nothing but the one he loves.  Broken images, yes, fragmented soundbites, certainly, but he is still the only thing occupying his thoughts.  He murmurs his name repeatedly, rocking a little in his seat.  His throat feels like he’s been drinking fire.  Water has lost its appeal.  Each breath feels like one of acid.  His mind has begun to distort his surroundings.  He’s in a room made of flesh.  He’s underwater.  It’s not water, though.  What is it?  He can’t tell.  But it’s not water.  It doesn’t smell like salt, it doesn’t taste like salt.  Salt.  Salt salt salt.

What is he tasting?  It’s sublime.  He remembers, vaguely, something with the same salty twang.  Percy.  Percy Percy Percy.  His lips, they tasted like sea salt and caramelized sugar.  He remembers it now, the taste of him, the sweetness of him, the delicacy of him.

            He needs to be near that shithead.  He needs to protect him.  Bad things will happen if he isn’t there to protect him.  He needs to go now, cure or not.  He needs to get to Percy.  Dead or alive, he needs to get to him.  He needs to get to him and…

            He’s drooling with spit he doesn’t know he has.

            “How far do you suspect he is from changing?” Bengele asks, glancing at the technician.

            He shifts and rolls up his sweatshirt sleeves. “Not long.”

            “Be specific.”

            “A few hours, at most.”

            Bengele grins.

 

            Percy sips on a thermos of water as he’s caught up on the situation in the camp.  They’ve been caught in the mess hall for five days.  They’re sure at least a dozen people were bit before being brought in.  Three received amputations and are still awaiting results.  The others have been put down.

            Supplies are dwindling, morale is at an all-time low, everyone’s exhausted and they’re running out of places to dispose of waste.  People are getting irrational and bullheaded.  It’s becoming more and more difficult to control the crowd.

            The armory, stored at the back of the camp, has been unreachable for three days.  There’s still a massive stockpile of weapons locked away, but it’s impossible for them to reach any of it.  Too many Mor-6ers block the path.

            The cars and RVs they had stored are also out of reach.  Going to them would be suicide, as they were parked along the front of the fence, which has since capsized.  In order to free the cars, they’d have to move the fence.  And in order to move the fence, they’d have to have more than a few seconds to spare.  

            On top of all that, the walls are starting to give.  Leo’s been working to reinforce them, but there’s only so much he can do with the benches and tables stocking the hall.  Plus, he’s trying to construct some device to divert the creatures’ attention away from the mess hall, which pulls his attention almost constantly off of strengthening the walls. 

            Leo himself sums it up rather nicely. “In short, we’re in deep, deep shit.”

            Percy nods a little.  He runs a hand through his hair and rubs his neck a little. “I can tell.  Do we have any plans?”

            Annabeth and Jason pass a glance and tell him about just opening the doors. “I don’t think it’ll work,” Annabeth says.  She’s completely frazzled.  The bags under her eyes almost rival Nico’s.

            Nico.  Percy’s lost for a moment.  Is he OK?  Is he better?  Surely he’s better by now.  When will he get to camp?  Will he be able to protect himself?  He needs to keep a look-out for him.

            “Percy?” Annabeth says, snapping her fingers in front of his face. “You leaving us again?”

            Percy blinks a little and looks up at her. “Is there any way I can get on the roof?  A…friend was following me, I need to make sure he gets here safely.”

            Annabeth frowns a little.  She’s hesitant to let Percy out of her sight again so soon after they’d gotten him back.  But she can’t argue against it.  After all, another’s safety should always come before her own feelings.  She nods after a moment and helps him up, refusing to release his hand as she leads him to the hole in the roof.  A hastily-constructed step-ladder acts as the passage up.

            She pauses at it and looks up at him, a frown still on her lips. “Are you all right?” 

            Percy shrugs a little.  He feels bad about forgetting about Nico so easily.

            Annabeth glances over her shoulder to ensure privacy and says, “Did something happen out there?”

            Percy opens his mouth a little. 

            Nico, Nico, Nico.

            Jokes shared, comfort shared, kisses shared, bodies shared.  Love in its earliest stages tempting to peek out from blossoms of admiration.  Survival coupled with infatuation, throwing them both into a whirlwind of dizzying circumstances, spanning from life and death situations to separating love and lust. 

            He thinks back.

Kissing Nico’s forehead in the car.

            Carrying him out of Cleft’s cottage.

            Letting him put his head on his shoulder and murmur confessions to him.

            Worrying, worrying, worrying about him, constantly.

            Nico calling the zombies off in the park.  

            Forgiving him for his negligence to watch his sister.

            Tackling the zombie kid who tried to rip his thigh to bits with indomitable, gung-ho courage.

            Enjoying music in the car, a small smile on his face, his knees tucked to his chest.

            Breaking at the sight of his sister.  

            Crying into his shirtfront.

            The way his lips formed around the word “love”, the way his voice moseyed over the “lo” and purred the “v”.

            Annabeth is still looking at him.  He pulls himself out of the bog of memories and smiles. “Nothing happened.”          

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> percY YOU DOG.


	32. Okay Percy, You're a Little Less Dogish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nico hallucinates. Percy chats with Piper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sooooooo not used to writing as characters like Piper ahhhh
> 
> Okay so like this is the most filler of filler chapters until I can come up with a way to have them fix the camp situation :* 
> 
> Also, kinda explained things from Percy's point of view because like yeah

            “Is the rendering of that Percy boy finished?” Bengele snaps, glancing back at one of the “employees” behind her.  He’s working his hardest to finish a drawing of Percy (or who they assumed was the Percy Nico kept murmuring about; the boy he was initially captured with) within the hour, but it’s difficult.  Nobody remembers his face exactly, so they improvise.  

            “Just about, ma’am,” he says, glancing up from his work. “Do you really think the effects would’ve started this early?”

            Bengele scoffs. “Would I be conducting this experiment if it wasn’t strictly necessary?”

            Everyone knows the answer to that one, but they lie anyways. “Of course not, ma’am.”

            As soon as the drawing is finished, one of the guards in riot gear takes it and steps into the observation room.  Nico is gazing at the table in front of him, his voice hoarsely whispering Percy’s name.  A collar has been fastened around his neck.  He’s held to the wall by a bolt of steel and a length of chain.

            The guard clears his throat. “di Angelo.  Mr. di Angelo.” He glances over his shoulder when Nico seems unresponsive.

Bengele speaks through a bullhorn. “ _Nico_.”

            His head snaps up for a second.  His dark eyes slowly settle on the picture.  It takes him a moment, but he registers who the portrait is of.

            Bengele coos through the bullhorn. “It’s Percy, Nico.  That Percy you keep talking about.  He’s here to visit you.”

            Nico’s drooling.  His thoughts are foggy.  His body is trembling.  Slaver drips on the steel table.

            He throws himself forward with all his strength and snaps his teeth at the portrait.  The collar snags around his neck and pulls him back, making his sutures pop for the third time today.

            But he just gets back up and snaps his teeth at the drawing, his hands clawing wildly for it.  He doesn’t notice the slobber covering his front.  He doesn’t notice the rabid state of his face, the disheveled state of his hair, the dry, waxy quality his skin has taken on.

            All he notices is what the virus allows him.

            _Nico reaches for Percy.  He’s being surrounded by zombies.  He’s tied up, he’s defenseless.  Nico cries out for him, screams at the zombies, tries to tear them away, but he can’t.  He’s assimilated into their masses.  He flails and grabs for Percy, but he’s perpetually out of his reach._

_“Hey shithead!” he cries, pulling at the forces that seem to bind him in place. “Fight!  Why won’t you fight!?”_

_He pulls forward again, but Percy’s just further away. “Percy!  Percy, please!”_

            Nico launches himself forward again.

            Bengele purses her lips and turns to the technician behind her. “Take a note.”

            “Yes, ma’am.”

            “‘The di Angelo boy—yet to change—reacts to a portrait of his Other with nothing but hunger.  No affectionate emotions seem to remain.’”

 

            Percy stumbles over his words. “I mean…stuff happened, of course, just…” He shrugs and grins sheepishly at Annabeth. “Nothing too important, I guess.”

            She smiles a little and kisses his cheek. “I’m just glad to have you back.”

            He smiles. “It’s good to be back, believe me.”

            She raises her brows. “It doesn’t seem like it would be.  This place is an absolute hellhole.”

            Percy shrugs. “At least it’s home.”

            They share a few more gentle moments before Percy dispatches to the roof, sitting by the makeshift chimney.  The archers and snipers are still on lookout, but they’re mostly silent.  Percy wishes the people downstairs would follow their example.  Everybody’s causing such a racket that, even if their sense of smell and sight were totally defective, all the zombies within a mile radius would certainly be drawn right to them.

            He understands that they’re getting antsy.  He understands that they just want to be able to enjoy peace again.  He gets that.  But he doesn’t get how they think they’ll be able to achieve that by making so much noise.

            He feels bad for not instantly asking about his parents’ wellbeing, but the odds of any of the people downstairs knowing aren’t great.  In such a mass of people, it would be hard to keep tabs on anyone.  He decides he’ll ask as soon as he’s brought something to the table.

            He’s no strategist.  That was Annabeth’s job, usually.  But he has a fresh perspective none of the others do right now.  He hasn’t been cooped up in there for the better part of a week.  His mind isn’t weary from dealing with a congregation of annoyed New Yorkers.  He might, if nothing else, be able to spark some sort of bigger plan in the minds of the more tactically-gifted. 

            But the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes they’d need an army to take this horde down. 

            He contemplates using fires to round them all up in one place.  But there’s collateral damage there that he can’t think of a good way of handling.  Plus, it might not even work.  These Ragers are a totally different species than the ones he’s used to dealing with.  Fire might not even interest them.

            Just shooting at random, of course, comes to mind, but he quickly dispels the thought.  It’d be a monumental waste of ammo with very little result.  If you don’t hit the head, you hit the body, then you’ve not even slowed it down.  So just going gung-ho wouldn’t work well at all.

            The best he can come up with is dispatching small groups to tend to different areas of the camp, but that idea is more full of flaws than a slice of Swiss cheese is holes.

            He’s beginning to feel a little defeated when Piper sticks her head up from the hole and gives him a sympathetic smile.

            “So you met somebody out there, huh?”

            Percy flinches a little.  He looks around like somebody is holding a sign over his head that reads _YOU GOT ME_ and stammers, “N-no, of course not, wh-wh—”

            Piper holds up the ring Nico had given him. “So I assume _this_ is yours?” She tilts her head a little and smiles. “C’mon, Percy.  This is clearly a girl’s ring.” Piper crawls up and sits beside him.  She gazes up at the starry, beautiful sky and sighs wistfully.

            Percy can’t really deny that that isn’t his ring and he desperately wants it back, so he says, “O-okay, you got me.  I met somebody.”

            Piper grins. “ _I knew it!_  Let’s talk about this.  I’m so done with war-planning for a _while_.”

            Percy blinks and squirms a little. “A-aren’t you friends with Annabeth?  Why do you w-want to…”

            Piper hits him lightly in the arm. “Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy gossip.  So.  Tell me about her.”

            _Her_. 

            Percy bites his lip.  He knows she’ll see right through a lie.  He wears truth on his face like a second skin.  But maybe truth by omission…

            “Nico…le.”

            Piper holds up the skull ring. “She a goth or something?”

            Percy gently takes it from her and turns it around in his fingers a little. “No, just…unusual, I guess.” He’s amused and sad to find that he can’t even fit the ring over his pinkie finger.

            Piper’s musing. “Why didn’t you tell Annabeth?”

            Percy frowns. “That’d go over splendidly. ‘Hey Annabeth, I know I’ve been gone for like, three weeks and everything, but guess what?  While I was gone, I replaced you!  Haha, yeah, so what’s been up with you?’” Percy raises his brows a little.

            Piper grants him that it would’ve been uncomfortable to lead with that.     

            He shrugs a little and tries to put his pinkie in the ring as much as he can. “I don’t even know if…she’s alive, is the thing.” He shrugs again. “She can handle herself really well and everything, just…when we parted ways, she wasn’t in a good spot…”

            “Why’d you two part ways, then?”

            Percy shrugs. “Something came up.”

            Piper hits his arm. “What, did she have to run to the store or something?  ‘Something came up’.  What’s that supposed to mean?”

            Percy offers a feeble smile. “She made sure I got here safely, then she had to go…she’ll be back.  I’ll face Annabeth about it then.”

            Annabeth and Nico, he thinks.  Did Nico know about Annabeth?  He couldn’t remember ever mentioning her to him.  Why hadn’t he said anything?  Guilt’s weighing heavy on him now.  He feels like shit.

            Piper sighs. “Is that who you’re looking out for now?”

            Percy nods. “…She’ll be here.  I know it.” He’s itching to get back down, to go get Nico himself, but as he looks down at the horde surrounding the mess hall, he realizes that it would be almost impossible to get out of here on foot without dying.  It was a shock he even made it in.

            He runs a hand through his hair.  He has to focus.  They need some plans.  They need an army.

            Maybe an army like the Hunters.

 

            Nico’s confused.  The world’s taken on a slow pace.  Everything seems blurry.  He can’t move his hands to rub his eyes.  Is he dead?  Is this what death feels like?  He slumps against the floor and succumbs to panting.  His breath wheezes. 

            He needs to survive.  He needs to make it to Percy.

            Summoning the remainder of his strength, he yells at the glass wall before him, “Y-you want my dad’s secrets, y-you need me alive!” He’s not even sure why he says it.  He can’t remember his dad.  He just yells what feels right.

            A few long minutes pass.

            The door opens.       

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eee more later probably


	33. Percy Has a Smart and Almost Dies Because of It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preparation begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably would've had this up sooner if it weren't for Lion King 2 and Fettuccine Alfredo, but ya know. At least they were worthy causes for procrastination. 
> 
> This was so tedious to write sdjfnbmcf,d.sffffffhfd
> 
> Also, if you read the chapter titles in succession, you'll basically see my inner dialogue over most of this story. 
> 
> This is poorly written and I am sorry. <3
> 
> enjoy i guess idk

            Percy stands before his peers and chews his lip.  A day’s passed and he’s come up with a very, very bad plan.

            The head of the camp looks up at him from his seat in his wheelchair. “What’ve you in mind, Percy?”

            He takes a deep breath and begins. “All right.  Uhm.  What we need to do is work…work on constructing ways to climb from one building to another.  I-if we can.  That way, we’ll be able to deploy more groups to hold them back.”

            Annabeth, at his side, adds, “We may be able to enlist the Hunters if can get a group of three safely out of here.  Percy knows where their most recent camp is situated and will be able to tell them where they’ll need to go.”

            Percy had suggested leading the group himself, of course, but Annabeth wasn’t ready for him to leave again.  She’d insisted they just follow instructions given by Percy.

            He’s needed there, anyways.

            “If we can recruit them,” Annabeth says, squaring her shoulders, “I’m confident we can survive this with very few casualties.”

            Percy nods a little to confirm what she said and goes on. “Also, if we can get some people to the weapons stock, I’m sure we’ll have a much better chance of fighting these guys off.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and plays with Nico’s ring. “How we’d get there, well…there’re two ways.  Either by the roofs, which will be difficult, or else we’d have to send out enough people out to both transport weapons and to watch peoples’ backs…” Percy frowns a little. “At that point, it might just be easier to try to get a car free.  It offers protection while they’re moving, plus more storage room.”

            “And greater distance and greater risk,” the head of the camp says.

            Percy nods a little. “That’s true.”

            “I think what Percy’s trying to say,” Annabeth says, “is that the profit of the expedition might outweigh the risk.  If we can be armed, we’ll win this.”

            The man raises his brows a little. “The good of the many over the good of the few, then, hmm?”

            Annabeth frowns. “It would seem that would be the case, sir.”

            The man sighs. “Fine.  I suppose you two would be willing to be part of the group to embark on this quest, then?”

            Annabeth and Percy pass glances.  Neither have any qualms.  Annabeth decides that, if she has to go out, she wants to go out with Percy.  Why not like this?  She takes a deep breath. “Of course, sir.”

            Chiron (you all already knew anyways, let’s not joke around here) nods slowly and takes in a deep sigh. “Chose who will accompany you to the cars and set out immediately.” He worries his bottom lip.

            Percy and Annabeth nod and hurry out, conferring quietly over who to send out to the Hunters and who to take with them on their quest to the fence. 

            In the end, it’s decided that Hazel, Piper and one more girl, named Reyna, are to act as ambassadors to Thalia.  Hazel’s to handle directions, Piper’s to handle politics and Reyna is to handle protection.  When Percy tells Reyna this, she regards him cagily for a moment before speaking. “And you’re sure these girls will listen to us?”

            “Like, 40%,” he’d said.

            Reyna had frowned a little. “Allow me to rephrase.  Do you really think this is the best option for us to pursue?”

            Percy had nodded.

            Reyna nodded back. “Then I’ll do it.” She’d whistled to her two greyhounds, curled up on either side of her, and stood, walking to where her fellow questers waited.

            They’d set off as soon as Percy had delivered a rough set of directions.  Frank covered them from the roof.  Reyna’s greyhounds worked as bodyguards, attacking any ghouls daft enough to approach them.  In little time, the girls had cleared the danger zone.

            Meanwhile, Percy and Annabeth collected Jason.  They talked Frank and his snipers into covering the roof at all angles, as they would need that in order to make it anywhere.  He’d agreed, stressed their dwindling ammunition supplies and, finally, wished them luck.

And, with as much bravado as foolhardiness, they set out, clad in heavy winter coats not likely to stop more than a few bites, armed with everything from guns to scrap metal.

            Annabeth leads (as she is, actually, the only one out of the group who is any good with cars) while Percy and Jason cover her.  The conditions out there really are horrible.  As soon as they burst out of the front door, they’re surrounded by Ragers and Normals. 

            Percy uses his ammo liberally, shooting any of them to get too close in the head and shoving others away.  He has to remind himself not to waste too much; that this is a retrieval mission, not a hunting trip.  He elbows his way by a ghoul and grabs Annabeth away from one, nailing it in the head as Jason clears a path for them.

            The three work beautifully.  As soon as the way is made clear, Annabeth darts out and toward the toppled fence.  When a zombie gets in her way, she shoots it in the head and runs faster.

            The boys chase her, doing their very best to keep all grabbing hands off of them.

            It’s not long before another horde has congregated around them.  Percy decides it’s not going to be an easy mission.

            The cars are netted in chainlink.  Percy can tell that much from where he is now.  He recognizes that, in retrospect, using mere chainlink to protect this many humans from zombies approaching en masse, was probably not the best idea.  But there’s little he can do about that now.

            One of the normal zombies grabs his arm and, for a split second, he believes Nico will just call it off.  He barely even worries about it.  When he doesn’t hear the desperation of Nico’s cry and feels the hard pressure on his forearm, he remembers he’s fighting this battle without his little zombie whisperer and, before it can break through the skin, shoves a piece of metal into the ghoul’s eye socket.  It takes only a second for it to deflate and for Percy to return back to reality.

            “Are you okay!?” Annabeth calls from a few yards ahead of him.  Zombies are dropping around her like crazy and he makes a mental note to thank Frank and his snipers for being excellent shots.

            He nods and gives a thumbs-up before kicking a ghoul in the belly and darting over to her.  Jason’s already halfway to the fence, leading a loping pack of Ragers along with him.

            Annabeth and Percy grasp at each other as they race to follow him, nimbly avoiding the corpses of For Real Dead zombies littering the ground and doing their best to destroy any that tried to approach them.  Both of them are already exhausted; the thought of fighting these things _while_ emptying the armory is horrifying.  Percy has an idea how to, one that he’s sure Annabeth has already thought of, but it’s far from foolproof.

            They catch up to Jason as they begin to leave the archers’ range.  This means, of course, that the snipers will still be able to cover them, but there are far fewer snipers than they are archers.  They’ll have to start fending for themselves even more now.

            Percy, feeling daft, yells at them. “Go home!” he shouts.  He can feel Nico’s ring in his pocket as perfectly as if it were burning him. “Go home!  Get out of here!  Stop!”

            Of course, they don’t listen too well.  One lurches at him in time to get caught in the temple by Annabeth.  She yanks her knife free and shoulders another away from her. “This is no time for smalltalk, Seaweed Brain!”

            He grins a little, despite himself, and shoots one more in the head before traversing the rest of the way to the fence. 

            He’s exhausted by the time he gets there.  He would be usually, even if he were just running, seeing as this is a sizable camp, but running _and_ fighting off zombies?  He can’t think of a more rigorous workout.

            Jason turns on the horde as soon as he reaches the fence and lifts his .9 mm.  He aims with precision and discipline and begins taking them down until the clip runs empty.  As soon as it gives, he replaces it and starts right back, covering Percy and Annabeth excellently as they work to pry open the door of a car.  The fence is slouching on their heads, causing them to slouch and making it more difficult to accomplish anything.  However, eventually they manage to slide into the old SUV.

            “Jason!” Percy shouts as Annabeth works to start the clunker up.

            Jason glances back and starts toward them, barely making it into the backseat in time.  A Rager tries to force its way in, but he kicks it in the face and slams the door shut.

            Luckily, this SUV, Percy thinks, has all its windows closed.

            After an agonizingly long minute, Annabeth gets it started and slams on the gas.  This makes the metal of the fence scream against the top of the car.  Percy covers his ears and grits his teeth.  It’s like nails on a chalkboard.  But like nails on a chalkboard with the background noise of like three hundred zombies wheezing and groaning and moaning and hissing.

            Not exactly a nice sound.

            Annabeth gets them out from under the fence in a few seconds.  She does her best not to hit too many zombies, but sometimes it’s essential.  They just jump on the hood every now and again and, well, it’s difficult to avoid that.

            She skids to a stop in front of the armory and does exactly what Percy would’ve expected from her. “Percy,” she says, looking over her shoulder, “get out and open the trunk.  Jason, go with him.”

            They don’t question her.  Watching each other’s backs, the boys fight their way around to the back of the car and open up the window of the trunk.  Faintly, they hear Annabeth yell, “Now open the door!”

            Jason jostles the door open while Percy defends him.  A sniper’s misaimed bullet zips by his ear.  He winces and yells, “Watch it, you guys!”

            There might’ve been a muffled apology.  He can’t tell.  He’s too busy not, like, dying.

            Jason shoves the door open with his hip and instantly turns on the light, ensuring there’re no ghouls that somehow found their way inside, before crossing the threshold.  He tugs Percy along with him and, though indignant for a moment, he’s almost immediately glad he did.  Annabeth rolls the SUV back where he was standing, lining it up with the door perfectly, and crawls out through the trunk.

            “Grab everything you can.  And hurry.  The windows can’t hold forever.” She grabs a few ammunition packs and tosses them into the trunk before working to shoot away anything that tried to squeeze its way between the SUV and the storehouse.

            Jason and Percy work for a solid five minutes at filling up the trunk as much as they can.  They grab all the remaining arrows, packs of every kind of ammo they can find, bottles of gasoline, blades of all sorts, a few crowbars and, of course, one chainsaw for good measure. 

            Annabeth’s tiring.  The SUV is totally swarmed now.  The trunk is full and they have a clear path back into it.

            Percy frowns. “Now what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dontcha love how i didn't fill you in on nico's condition
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> cos i do <3
> 
> BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY REYNA AND HER HOUNDS CAN I GET A "I GUESS YOU AREN'T THE DEVIL"


	34. Everybody's Groovy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No they aren't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many moving parts omg  
> I feel like I'm forgetting like a million things  
> oh well
> 
> SORRY ABOUT HOW LONG IT TOOK TO UPDATE THIS  
> MY BROTHER CAME INTO MY ROOM AND REFUSED TO LEAVE FOR LIKE AN HOUR  
> THEN I WANTED A BAGEL AND IT JUST TOOK WAY LONGER THAN NEED BE
> 
> This chapter is so riddled with dumb humor omg

            Nico didn’t know such pain existed before today.  He can’t scream.  He can’t move.  His body is wracked with pain.  He knows something’s in his neck, but he can’t tell what.  He’s dazed.  Nothing’s making sense.  He can’t even hold onto his memories.  Pain blurs everything as something as cold as liquid nitrogen courses through his veins.  He opens his mouth, but doesn’t make a sound.

 

            Ariana crouches in the halls of Bengele’s institution.  She’s still shaky on her feet, not 100% sure whether she’s sick or not, but she knows one thing.  She won’t stay here any longer.  And she’s not leaving her fellow Hunter behind.  So, forcing herself not to stall, she sets off down a corridor, a bent piece of metal her only defense against the guards and whatever else she might run into. 

            She hears Bengele’s voice and ducks into a room.

            “…the di Angelo boy seems to holding up nicely.  However, he’s been very conservative with his information.  Perhaps we’ll set something after him he can’t talk down.  What about one of the…” Her voice fades again.

            Ariana pauses.  She thinks hard, trying to place the name.

            She was on watch the night they rescued those boys.  The littler of the two demanded to pull his weight.  He had taken watch with her.

            “What’s your name, kid?” she’d asked.

            He shot her a molten look. “Nico di Angelo.”

            Nico di Angelo.  The very same who, during their watch, decided to be a show-off.  He’d gotten out of the cab to tease an approaching zombie.  He’d told it to stop.  Made it walk in circles.  Pet its head, made it kneel.  Then gave her the OK to shoot it.

            She thinks a moment, her mind becoming clearer.  Nico di Angelo could make her escape much easier.

 

            Percy holds down the stockpile as the others clamber into the SUV.  His muscles scream as he heaves the machete again, bringing it down on a Rager’s head with a satisfying _sqshht_.  He stands his ground as two more take its place, scrambling over each other with unmatchable determination. 

            “Percy!” Annabeth shouts, getting into the front seat. “Get in here!”

            Percy gives her a look and swings the machete again. “ _Working on it!_ ”

            Another takes that one’s place, writhing between the car, building and corpses like a worm that’s been stabbed.  Percy kicks it in the face.  It grabs his ankle and tugs him towards its open mouth.  Percy grimaces and chops down on its arms.  It makes a hissing sound as he tries to kick the disembodied hands off himself.  He scrambles into the trunk as another grabs his midsection, tugging at him insistently.

            He elbows it in the face and squirms until he’s free before trying to slam the trunk shut behind him.  He thinks he might’ve been scratched on the side, but otherwise, he feels all right. “Drive!” he shouts, watching as the Ragers slam their heads against the windows hungrily, their jaws wide and insatiable.

            Annabeth guns it, but can only make it so far before Ragers impede their path.  She can’t barrel through them.  The car would suffer too much damage if she were to try.  But then, how much is a car really worth in the grand scheme?  As far as Annabeth’s concerned, if they can get this puppy to the mess hall, they’re golden.

            She wheels the car around, slamming into two of the Ragers scrambling at the hood.  Jason and Percy lurch to the side with the abrupt turn.  Percy’s face gracefully hits the window and, groaning, he manages a small nod of acknowledgement to the zombie also slamming its face against the window.  He feels they could be friends, given their common interests, but Annabeth charges out of there before they can chat.  _Rude_.

            Percy might be concussed.

            Annabeth handles the car as well as one can in a maelstrom of the undead.  By the time they’re halfway to the mess hall, the SUV is a total wreck.  The windshield has taken an unparalleled beating and the sides of the car are dented inwards.  Luckily, Frank’s archers and snipers are more in range by now.  Arrows begin flying almost instantly.  One sticks out from the hood of the car.

            Annabeth flinches when it hits and glares upwards vaguely before turning the car around and backing it up to the kitchen entrance of the mess hall.  That way, even if something managed to squeeze in, there would be a door separating it from the general populace.  The chance of contaminating the food certainly isn’t ideal, but it’s less likely that will happen than one will make its way in. 

            Jason and Percy scramble through the back to begin unloading.  Percy had, unwittingly, left the trunk ajar.  Smears of blood and skin made it very clear that something had tried to squirm its way in. 

            Percy starts pulling stuff in as Annabeth makes her way back into the kitchen.  She holds the zombies off as Jason and Percy unload everything they can before it’s clear they’re going to be overwhelmed.  Annabeth slams the trunk of the car and slides the steel door shut, locking it back as it was before their expedition.  She’s panting and shaking hard as she looks over the boys. “Y-you two okay?”

            The three of them check themselves out, lifting shirttails and examining arms, until, finally, they decide they’re unscathed.  Annabeth smiles and wraps the boys in a hug, laughing giddily. “W-we did it!  We did it!”

            Something throws itself at the door.  This, understandably, breaks up the love-fest.  They start working at piling the supplies against the doors.  Once they’ve finished, they have nothing to do but wait for the girls to return.  Hunters hopefully in tow.

           

            It’d been a day and a half since they’d left, and Hazel was still having trouble with Percy’s directions.   
            Piper’s getting a little testy. “Well, which way did he _say_ to go?”

            Hazel shrugs a little, helpless. “He said ‘ri—uh, left, at the blue sign’.”

“Riuhleft at the blue sign doesn’t really help us.” Reyna drags a hand through her hair. “Does the map say anything about Walmarts?”

            Hazel juggles it and looks it over. “Nope.  Just major landmarks and stuff.”

            Piper grumbles. “Who _cares_ about landmarks!  I just want to get to that freakin’ _Walmart_.”

            “Well I’m _working on it_ ,” Hazel murmurs. 

She works to retrace their steps for the third time that day when a voice pipes up from the trees. “All right, you three, what the hell?”

Reyna pulls her gun off her shoulder and aims it. “Who are you?”

A girl with frizzy red hair in a silvery jacket drops from the branches. “I’d ask you the same, but it’s clear you’re just triggerhappy.”

Piper groans audibly.

Reyna assesses her for a moment. “You’re a Hunter.”

The girl nods a little. “What gave it away?  The arrows or the boss-ass rainslicker?”

Piper steps in before Reyna can respond. “We need to speak with Thalia.  It’s a matter pertaining to the safety of her friends and family.”

The girl’s spunk falters a little. “You’re from that camp, huh?”

“We are.”

The girl bites her lip. “Follow me.”

 

Hours later, after a quest through scant woods, onto highway overpasses and almost through a horde of the undead, they reach the shopping center in which the Hunters have set up camp.  The girl leads them through the parking lot, by an armored car and, finally through the reinforced sliding doors that lead into Wallyworld.

The Walmart is a lot creepier than any of them anticipated.  The inside is full of muted light.  Zombies, both the normal kind and the Mor-6ers, are locked up in various, rather inconvenient places.  Ball cages, the garden lot, in display cases.  If it’ll hold them, they’re there.  The girls aren’t sure why.

The girl with the frizzy hair leads them to the hunting section.  There, they see Thalia, whittling arrows and relaxing on a pile of beanbags behind the main display cases.  Snapping zombie heads are behind the glass.

“Thalia,” the girl says, standing before her.

            Thalia glances up.  She looks incredibly calm, which puzzles Hazel because when Percy had spoken about her temperament, he’d said “Well, lately she’s been really stressed out, so go easy on her”.  She wonders if, like with the directions, Percy was confused.

            “Yeah?” she says, sitting up a little.  She looks over the girls’ faces, furrowing her brow a little.  She recognizes them, but she doesn’t _know_ them. “Who…?”

            “We’re from the camp at Arcade,” Piper says, stepping up diplomatically. “We’ve been overrun.”

            Thalia’s face is suddenly dark and serious.  Hazel sees the stress now. “You have.” She says it slowly, like she’s not quite sure whether or not she believes the words.

            Piper nods a little, troubled. “The surviving occupants are holed up in our mess hall.  We were wondering if…if you’d be willing to extend your help to us.  Percy sent us.”

            Thalia knows exactly why Percy sent them.  She knows exactly how he’s playing her.  Her little brother’s at that camp and Percy knows it.  He knows that she’d protect him to the end of the world and back.  Even if it meant putting Hunters’ lives at risk unnecessarily.

            She closes her eyes and releases a long sigh. “I’ll discuss with our recruits.  How much longer do you assume they’ll be able to hold out?”

            Piper bites her lip. “Not too much longer.”

            Thalia rubs her temples and stands, beginning to pace thoughtfully. “If, and this is a big _if_ , we do help you, how do you intend to get us there?  A group of our size draws lots of unwanted attention, after all.” Thalia glances back at them. “Any thoughts there?”

            Piper glances back at Hazel and Reyna.  The former offers a helpless shrug.  The latter just pets the head of the hound at her left and worries her lip, trying to think of something.

            “I might have an idea.” The voice comes from somewhere in the aisles behind Thalia’s little station. “But it involves sleds.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ey neeks
> 
> also
> 
> sleds


	35. Weary Limbs, "Wet" Dreams (in a very oceany way) and Winter Sleds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get an update from Neeks. Percy dreams of Neeks and Annabeth which sounds really raunchy but it's not. The girls prep to go sledding.   
> Also, what an alliterative, bad chapter title, wow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyyyyyy.
> 
> So I decided to do some interactive research for this story. Aka, today I went out in my backyard with a pickaxe, a hatchet and a hammer and beat the living hell out of a ton of dying trees and whatnot. 10/10 recommended for any given situation as that was like the most fun I've ever had. 
> 
> So expect some more realistic ghoul fighting 'cos as much as it was fun, it was exhausting. Yay for plum-tuckered zombie hunters darn-near passing out in the midst of combat. 
> 
> :D 
> 
> Also, I know this is short, but fear not. Longer chapters are yet to come. This is primarily just to tie up some loose ends before the big stuff.

            Nico feels heavy on his feet.  He can’t stop swaying.  Why can’t he stop swaying?  Everything hurts.  Every nerve is racked with aching pain.  He feels like he somehow managed to work out every part of his body at once.  Even his ears, somehow, which he thinks is a little odd.  He didn’t even know those could ache.

            He’s walking strangely.  He recognizes this, but doesn’t worry about it too much.  He can deal with a broken gait.  It won’t impede him too much.  He can still run.  Or, rather, lope.  He’ll be okay.

            One thought is clear in his mind.  He needs to find Percy.  He needs to find Percy and he will, no matter what it takes.

            He limps on.  He didn’t expect for his limbs to be this heavy, but he guesses he should’ve expected it.  His arms feel useless.  They sway at his sides and almost throw him off balance.  His head feels like an abused drum.  His fingertips are completely numb.  He can’t see clearly; he’s not sure why, he just knows he can’t.  Everything has a shadow thrown over it.  Everything’s blurry around the edges.  It’s like everything he sees are just part of a slideshow of pictures taken on a 19th century camera.  And, even though the pictures go together, none of them really make sense.  It’s like some part of him knows that it all makes sense.  That part just isn’t in control.

But it’s okay.  It’s okay, because soon he’ll be back with Percy.

            It’s okay.

           

            Percy’s fast asleep on the roof.  He’s curled up on a bedroll somewhere behind the snipers, his head cushioned on his bicep, reeking to high heaven because, damn, what are showers, and completely tuckered out from their quest.  His body is so tired, he’s 90% sure his muscles have begun to dissolve.  Who would’ve thought machete swinging was such a great workout?

            He hopes that, in the case of basically inevitable emergency, he’ll be able to rouse from his deep sleep, but he doubts it.  He’d bet not even an earthquake could wake him.

            Dreams come shortly after he closes his eyes on the starry night sky twinkling overhead.  He’d forgotten how gorgeous the sky out here in the country was, so free of pollutants, free of city clouds of smoke and smog.  He had hoped that the beauty of unobstructed constellations would be enough to keep him from having nightmares of anything too bowel-churningly disgusting.

            And they do.

            But that doesn’t mean he dreams well.

            _Percy’s swimming.  He’s free.  He feels at home in the water, drifting through it easily, like he was born to do nothing but cut through lapping waves and dive to chilling depths and get salt water up his nose (because he’s a dork)._

_He ducks under the water, loving how it felt sliding through his hair, over his skin.  Like the gentleness of a mother’s caress, streaming over him ever so softly from all angles, as loving and tangible as if an actual person were touching him.  It’s calming to not have to jump at a touch, to not have to gauge whether or not the touch was coming from a human or something that once was.  The water grants him comfort and peace that the land never can because—as long as he stays in deep water—nothing can touch him.  He’s swaddled in protection._

_He feels like he could stay submerged forever, but, even in his dreams, he feels he needs to resurface.  He’s not sure why.  He isn’t out of breath or anything.  But the tug to the surface is too strong to resist.  He kicks his way up and takes in a breath.  As the water drips out of his ears, he can hear distinctive cries for help.  He glances back, at the shore behind him, and sees Annabeth, surrounded by ghouls.  Their hands reach for her, pulling at her curly hair, mouths wide and hungry.  She screams for help, calling his name with a voice so full of agony it makes his heart twist._

_But out to the ocean, further ahead of him, is Nico.  He’s gasping and clawing at the water.  His head keeps dipping under. “Percy!” he sputters, his eyes locking onto him. “P-please, Percy!”_

_The ghouls are closing in.  Annabeth’s becoming overwhelmed._

_The water’s growing stormy.  Nico’s being dunked by waves that don’t touch Percy._

_“Save me!”_

_“No, Percy, save_ me! _”_

_“Percy, please!”_

_“I need you!”_

_“Help!”_

_“I love you!”_

_“I love you!”_

_“Don’t let me die!”_

_“Oh, Percy, please!”_

_“Don’t let me die because of_ him! _”_

 _“Don’t let me drown because of_ her! _”_

_“Percy!”_

_“Percy!”_

            He awakes with a jolt.  He’s still swimming, though it’s in sweat instead of the ocean this time.  He holds Nico’s ring securely in his fist and peeks down into the mess hall to make sure Annabeth is still sleeping soundly and not one of the undead.  When he sees her curled up in her sleeping bag, he’s only partially calmed.  What about Nico?  Is he okay?

            Percy stands by the chimney and looks out over the campground.  It’s still totally swarmed with the walking dead, of course, but those aren’t what he’s looking for.  He hopes, so hopes, to be able to pick out that cotton-trimmed aviator jacket in the bright moonlight, to rush out there and grab the kid before the dead can even try, to be welcomed with a whispered, “Hey, shithead” and to be able to put at least some of that anxiety to rest.  He just wants all of people safe again.

            For a few moments, Percy stops paying attention and analyzes his dream.  If he were to get to shore, to help Annabeth, what could he do?  He’s fairly sure he wasn’t armed in his dream.  Would he just yell at them and hope they left?  What was he supposed to do to help?  By the time he even got there, Annabeth would’ve certainly been at least scratched.

            Nico’s circumstance was different.  Yes, the ocean was grumpy and fitful, and yes, Nico would’ve been vainly struggling against him, but he could still swim.  He could still help him.  Even if Nico began to sink, Percy could dive for him.  Nico would’ve had more of a chance at survival than Annabeth.

            He can’t decide what this means.

            He watches the moon and releases a soft sigh.  He turns his thoughts to the here and now.  To the testy crowds and the hungry undead and decides, with certainty, that the Hunters need to hurry.

            Then something happens.  About a dozen Ragers are slamming themselves at the doors.  The snipers are taking them out as quickly as they can, but it’s not fast enough.  As soon as one falls, two takes its place.  Suddenly there’s a swarming mass of them.  Percy stumbles.  The building’s shuddering.  Percy screams to those sleeping below to get up, grab their weapons, and to get ready to fight.

            The horde’s patience with them has run out.

 

            Reyna does not know why they’re doing this, but they are.  She honestly thinks this is the dumbest idea of all ideas, something thought up by somebody with only two working brain cells, but she was outvoted.  So here she is, siccing her hounds on every passing ghoul and tying their mouths shut like a complete idiot would. 

            Hazel’s making little posters to hang on the captured zombies’ fronts that, they hope, will aid in the attack.  Her handwriting is the clearest, they decided, making her an obvious candidate for the job.

            Piper’s doing her best to talk the zombies they’re dealing with into submission, but only one or two even listen to her.  She’s getting a little fed up with them.

            Reyna ties a rope in the mouth of another and leads it along.  She blows some hair out of her face and ignores the muffled groans of the creature shambling after her.  She hands the reigns off to Thalia, who’s only gotten more fretful as the day progresses.

            “When do you think we’ll be ready to head off?” Reyna asks, wiping sweat off her brow.

            Thalia shoves the zombie’s clawing hands away from her. “Hopefully by morning.” She taps her foot anxiously.

            Hazel comes over with a sign in hand and hangs it around the creature’s neck. “There we go.  This one’s all ready to go.” She smiles and trots back off to continue her work.

            Thalia straightens the sign idly and hitches the zombie up with the rest of them as Piper tries to coo them down.

            “First thing in the morning?” Reyna asks.  She’s itching to defend her home.

            “First thing.”

            Reyna nods, her fingers jittering at her sides.  The adrenaline’s already beginning to flow.

            Thalia continues to tend to the mass of zombies they’d tied up.  Out of context, it might’ve been funny.  A bunch of zombies wearing signs with “Don’t kill me, I’m your friend!” written on their fronts in cutesy handwriting could’ve been straight from a horror parody.  But it wasn’t.

            The sleds were almost complete.  The armored car was gassed up and ready to go.  The bullhorn was packed with fresh batteries.

            Everything was falling into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for shortness again  
> chapters should be longer and more plentiful in future I swear <3 
> 
> And, whether it's in this story or in a one-shot, fear not. Fluff is soon to come. I've been listening to way too much John Legend to not be writing fluff.


	36. I Rip Off That One World War Z Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bdXsrL2zSWU&feature=kp because that was like the only scene I really enjoyed from that movie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wasn't a huge fan of the World War Z movie adaption. Just...Brad Pitt could you please not. 
> 
> This chapter is wild like, not gonna lie, I made it up as I went along and I regret nothing. There's so much dumb humor like oh man. It's really bad. 
> 
> This isn't a whole lot longer, but whatever! 
> 
> I'm so tired i just finished this it's like 3 in the morning GOOD NIGHT

            “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

            “Y-yeah, I’m sure.  I’ll sit up t-top.  It’ll be fine.”

            “But…”

            “L-look, I-I _know_ you don’t need to be w-worrying about me.  Worry a-about yourself.  I-it’ll be okay.”

            “But—!”

            Groooooooan.

            “…Fine.  But when you’re half-dead, don’t come crying to me.”

 

            “This is the _dumbest_ idea _ever_.” Reyna sits in the back of the armored car, her hounds curled up beside her. 

Thalia shrugs. “It’s the best we have.”

            Reyna rests her chin on her knee.  She gazes at the horde they’d collected, tied to a hastily constructed sleigh, made large enough for the twenty Hunters who agreed to come.  She just thinks it’s a mess (she’s kinda right; if the “sleigh” holds up, they’ll be lucky, and that’s not even _mentioning_ the whole “zombies as the sleigh-drawers” thing).

            Thalia passes by the horde, the lot of them swaying toward her, and mounts the sled with all the others.  She’s not even sure how many zombies they wrangled, but it was enough to create a horde that would either be an unparalleled blessing or a major curse to those at Arcade.  Either way, it’s too late to reconstruct the plan now.

            Piper loads up in the back of the stolen truck with Reyna, keeping her distance from her.  The two had a history of almost killing each other that made this whole road trip thing relatively unpleasant.  They pass glances, sitting in silence.  One of Reyna’s hounds barks halfheartedly at her.  Reyna smiles a little before pounding on the side of the truck.

            “Let’s get going, Hazel!”

            A few seconds later, the engine purrs to life.  And with it, the music starts up, horrifically loud and guaranteed to draw the attention of any zombie within a five mile radius.  Like, for instance, some of the ones from the camp.

            Thalia really hopes the zombies’ sense of hearing is more powerful than their cognizant reasoning because she and the other Hunters will be sitting ducks in the sleigh if not.  So, holding onto optimism, they hunker down on their sled, pretending not to be there as the zombies turn toward the car and, with little hesitation, begin lurching after it.

 

            Percy honestly thought that movie _World War Z_ was just making stuff up.  He remembers scoffing at that scene where the zombies are swarming Israel, scaling the wall erected around Jerusalem using only each other and their unquenchable hunger as drive.  But as he watches the teeming mass of Ragers beneath him as they writhe atop one another, hissing and barking and grunting, a congregation of rot made up of grabbing limbs and tumbling bodies, he recognizes the true power of undead beings’ determination.  They haven’t made it to the roof yet, though they’ve already conquered the SUV by the door, but it’s only a matter of time.  Those capable of it are leaping, grasping for the edge of the roof, always falling just a little short with stupendous shrieks of presumable irritation.

            The people cooped up beneath him are tense, their weapons held tight, children clutched to their parents, couples holding one another in what very well might be their last moments.  They all stay crouched, completely silent, listening to the sounds of the once-alive scratching against the outer walls, waiting for the inexorableness of utter invasion.

            The snipers cut through the still with the silenced “chh-chh” of rapid-fire shots.  The pack does not lose its size.  For every one shot down, three new appear.  Percy bites his lip.

            Annabeth has crawled up beside him. “The door is clear,” she whispers, glancing over the edge.

            Percy nods a little. “Sure ’nough.”

            Annabeth swallows her anxiety and ties her hair back before pulling a cap over it.  She leaves no handholds for the dead. “Here’s the plan.  The strongest, the fastest, and the cleverest of us need to be deployed.  The only way we can control this is by breaking it up and fighting it.”

            Percy sighs and nods. “And I take it we’re part of the strongest and cleverest?”

            Annabeth nods a little. “Yep.”

            Percy sighs again. “Are we going to have to be showy?”

            “What?”

            “In order to best draw their attention.  We need to be… _flashy_.”

            “I…” Annabeth frowns. “Do what you think is best, Percy.”

            And that’s how, once everyone was gathered and discharged, Percy ended up racing into a mess of the undead screaming the song _Talk Dirty_ while swinging around a flashlight. (Annabeth is willing to bet he’s the only person ever to charge into battle with the war whoop of “But your booty don’t need explaining”.)

            Needless to say, the zombies took an interest in him.

            Part of the group at the SUV untangled to come lurching toward the semi-organized formation of survivors darting away from the mess hall.

            From the roof, those who were weaker or slower on their feet aim guns as best they can in the dark, taking down the creatures as they lurch toward the survivors below.  Of course, that’s not enough to slow the steady stream of zombies too much at all.

            Down on the ground, Percy has, with great sorrow, laid his excellent war cry to rest in the interest of conserving energy.  The flashlight, however, still plays a pivotal role, as, until he can draw Riptide, it is his weapon.  He’s lucky it’s one of those heavy-duty, blunt-object-murder-weapons-on-CSI: Miami-style flashlights, or he’d be screwed.

            However, it’s already gotten slippery from blood and gray matter, making wielding it unpleasant at best, but _c’est la vie_. 

            Percy catches one of the zombies before it can bite into him, using his handy-dandy leather sleeves (trademarked by Sally Jackson) to hold it back.  He’s suddenly very glad Nico insisted he take the one he had initially given him had back.  If he hadn’t, Percy would probably be dead right now.

            The creature does its best to tear at it, only managing to rip away some of the exterior before pulling back and preparing to rock forward again.  Percy jumps a little and gets out of its way, trying his best not to drop his flashlight, and clucks. “Big hoss, huh?” Now that the light is actually falling on it, he sees that he’s messing with a creature that’s probably 6’4” with shoulders twice as broad as his.  A bite mark mars its face, ripping from its cheekbone to its chin.  Lazily lines of blood trickle down its neck.

            Percy takes a deep breath.  This is easily the biggest zombie he has ever seen.  And he’s 90% sure it’s a Rager.

            It heaves forward, pus-filled saliva splattering on Percy as it throws itself at him.  He dodges it and throws the flashlight away.  It’s doing nothing but drawing more zombies to him.  He unsheathes Riptide in record time, holding it up as the creature bites at him.  It latches onto the blade and bites down so hard its palate cracks under the pressure.  Percy kicks it in the stomach and tries to get his machete back.  He doesn’t want to have to resort to the .38 at his belt for a few reasons.  One, the whole “noise” factor.  And two, he only has five shots.

            He’s really regretting grabbing that one.  Freaking Percy.

            He has a Glock, but that’s tucked at the small of his back because there wasn’t a whole bunch of forethought in this attack. 

            The creature’s not letting Riptide go, though.  Percy takes a second to think.  He drowns out the howling around him, the screams of a survivor, the distinct smell of smoke (Leo got his fires at last), and just focuses hard on his available weapons.

            Icepick.

            Crowbar.

            Machete (currently out of commission on account of masochistic zombie with a bad case of the munchies).

            .9 mm.

            .38 mm.

            And a hatchet.

            The hatchet and guns are out.  Both are finite.  The icepick would be too, uh, _intimate_.  The crowbar wins.

            He jams it into the creature’s eye socket and twists, grunting with effort as he pulls back.  It goes limp and falls to the ground at his feet.  Percy pries Riptide free as quickly as possible and turns to see three more of the beasts staring him dead in the eye.  Machetes usually aren’t ideal for this kind of close combat, but that doesn’t stop him from using it.  He heaves it over his shoulder in a swift motion that scalps the first zombie effortlessly.  Percy feels an ache in his shoulders and, silently, curses his sore muscles.

            The other two advance quickly.  Percy hasn’t heard any other gunfire yet, but the situation seems to be calling for it.  He aims and blows the first one’s head off.  The .38 kicks hard in his hand, initially surprising him.  The other zombie’s surprised too, so surprised it wants a closer look.

            Percy quickly aims and fires, dropping that one as well before darting away from where he caused all the noise.

            The grounds are thick with obstacles.  From the, you know, cannibalistic kind to other survivors to the odd tree to huts.  It’s impossible to run for too long.

            The only bright side to the situation is that the sun is beginning to come out.  At least he can kinda see what he’s about to run headlong into.

            Percy skids to a stop by a hut and glances back at the mess hall.  It’s holding well, but the mass of creatures is still too substantial for them to relax.

            Percy grumbles.  He looks around quickly for Annabeth to find she’d taken up a post on top of a hut, shooting anything to come too close.  Percy doesn’t know why he didn’t think of that.

            It’s a bit late to situate himself up with her now.  He, with some reluctance, pushes off the wall of the hut and takes off, steering clear of the edges of structures just in case some ghouls are waiting for him.

            Leo has torched five or six of the zombies, but they’re still moving.  One is even _feeding_ , which almost tops Percy’s list of Gnarliest Things Ever Witnessed.   It takes a few minutes for one of them to tilt and, eventually, fall down, brains and virus successfully cooked to the point of destruction.

            Still.  A few minutes isn’t a quick enough kill.  Especially if you give the zombie power over fire for those few minutes.  Like, what the hell, who even thought that was a good idea?

            Percy sees a zombie lurching toward a girl named Gwen and, without thinking, yells at it. “Hey!  Stop!”

            It seriously doesn’t care.

            “ _Hey!_ ”

            It almost has her by the hair. 

            “ _HEY!_ ”

            Suddenly, it turns around.  For a second, Percy’s like “hell yeah, maybe I have the zombie whispering gift”.  Then he hears the approaching blare of the Arctic Monkeys, as well as a whole chorus of zombie groans, and realizes he was mistaken.

            When the armored car breaches the horizon, screaming _Do I Wanna Know_ and followed by a horde of zombies with brightly colored signs on their fronts, Percy has to pause a second.  It’s only when he sees the spray-painted _HUNTERS INC._ on the side of the truck that he cracks a grin.  The reinforcements have arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still cannot believe I did the sleigh thing that was not the plan originally but alas
> 
> Also like a lot of music references in here wow  
> sorry


	37. Percy Gets Taken DOWN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What a chapter, wow. Nico probably? Percy does some wicked stuff, probably. Annabeth is a glorious Percy-saver, probably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/0f/69/44/0f69445a7c36c6fb5d30c65dd2173c0d.jpg Unrelated except on the grounds that this is a zombie, please enjoy how utterly done this thing looks with me because frankly I did not know something reanimated could possess so much unadulterated sass. 
> 
> Off that topic, this is another chapter that I'm saying "what even" to because I have a headache so this is the best I can do. 
> 
> It's a lot longer than I expected it to be, wow, okay. 
> 
> In this chapter, you get to really see my love for words ending in "-ity" as there is a complete overabundance of them.

            Nico hoists himself up.  God, who would’ve thought this would be so difficult?  His muscles tremble from the exertion.  He doesn’t mind too much, though.  He’s going to keep Percy safe.  It’s worth some further exhaustion. 

            The world tilts drastically and, after a moment of closed-eyed stillness, he corrects it.  He keeps clawing his way up.

 

            The sleigh zombies are getting antsy.  They pull further, trying to reach the truck.  Now that the sled is emptying out, they move more easily, piling around the thick steel of the car’s walls and clawing at it.  A few try to climb over their “peers” only to find, to their bafflement, that they are, in fact, tied to one another and, therefore, cannot traverse over one another.  Unintentionally, they form a ring of muzzled, writhing protection around the truck, tight-knit enough to at least impede other zombies from scrambling over them with too much ease.  This is definitely a plus.

            The Hunters, clad in every form of long-sleeve apparel available at Walmart (and a few in stolen riot gear), cascade down the slight incline of the Arcade camp’s hill, bows drawn, arrows notched.  The first volley of arrows fly with accuracy that puts most of the roof archers to shame. 

            Thalia finds Percy quickly, weaving through packs of the undead and grabbing him by the shirt collar. “Where’s Jason?” she asks, giving him a little shake.

            Percy’s embarrassed to say he doesn’t know. “I’m…not sure.”

            Thalia shoves him away with an irritated grunt and uses an arrow to stab an approaching zombie in the eye. “If anything’s happened to him, it’ll be your ass, Jackson.”

            He nods, giving her a thumbs up and pulls the crowbar off his belt. “Deal, Grace.” She stabs another in the eye with the arrow and takes off, seamlessly shooting her bow and collecting her arrows, like this was, somehow, a pastime she enjoyed even in the Before.

            Percy admires that briefly before ducking for cover.  The armored car is still pumping out bluesy rock.  A few characters in riot gear stand on top of it, yelling at the zombies with bullhorns.  It drew them toward the car like moths to a flame.  This, of course, made it much easier to sneak up on them.  Which, clearly, made it easier to kill them.

            And, just like that, the survivors had an Annabeth-worthy plan.  Just be quiet and careful and shoot those bastards in the back of the head as they try to reach for the sublimity of the Arctic Monkeys.  Infallible.

            The majority of the Hunters had taken up posts atop huts, picking off the horde-members with arrows and bullets alike.  As soon as one ran out of both, they dropped to the ground and commenced close combat (which they completely _owned_ , much to Percy’s annoyance and admiration). 

            Everything is going swimmingly until the CD in the armored car ends.  It’s not like anybody can get down there to start another.  Zombies have totally swamped the cab, the doors of which were left open to make sure the noise carried efficiently.  The Hunters must’ve expected to be able to make quicker work of this ordeal.

            To make matters worse, those still locked away in the mess hall had given up their vows to silence, as the music had completely drowned them out anyway.  Now, however, as they fumble for absolute quiet, they find just how difficult it was to be discreet after such brief reprieve.  The children, locked up for so long, have begun to fuss.  The camp’s few babies cry.  In the semi-silence of the early morning, it’s _very_ clear which way the zombies need to go to get an easy meal.

            They begin to lose interest in the car, though those with the bullhorns are yelling incessantly.  One of them, who had been sitting, stumbles to their feet and joins in the shouts.  None of the zombies seem particularly interested, even with the new voice.

            Percy can barely even tell what they’re saying.  He’s panicking too much.  His mother and step-father have just been put in the line of danger.  Well, put _further into_ the line of danger.

            He aims the .38 at a troupe of zombies making their way to the mess hall and empties out the chamber.  He has another handful of bullets in a pouch at his side, but refilling the revolver now isn’t an option given, like, the half dozen Ragers tearing their way toward him.

            He grabs the Glock from the small of his back, drops some cheesy tagline he can’t remember, and aims with a sure hand and a sporadic mind, taking down three of them on their way over.  The others are exterminated relatively easily at a close range.  However, after taking out the last one (missing the head twice, having to hit it multiple times to go down), it becomes clear to Percy that he’s growing tired.  Mentally and physically.  His decision making is obviously skewed as he tries to decide which way to run—to the aid of those within the hall or to the aid of the other survivors fighting desperately to keep the undeads’ attention off of the still-teeming pile atop the stagnant SUV.

            As he works to decide, one of the riot-gear-clad people on the armored car drops down, into the bustling mass of the dead, and begins to cut away at some of the ropes.  Only a few; enough to keep the zombies bound to one another, but also enough to allow them the freedom of travel.  Very quickly, the ghouls-turned-sled-dogs take off with the others, starting toward the mess hall. 

            Percy wants to throttle whoever’s behind that Plexiglas mask.

            As soon as they’ve finished releasing even more hell on the camp, they crawl back onto their safe roost on the top of the vehicle and resume yelling into their bullhorn.

            Percy would say that “livid” would be a major understatement for his current emotion.  He’s about to charge forward, start bashing some heads in, when he notices what the zombies are doing.  Whether it’s intentional or not, they’re actually corralling the others, forcing them together by the rope that binds them (which Percy decides is probably one of the strongest substances on earth).  The shouting of those on the armored car has begun to draw them back.  Something else is happening in the midst of the group, but Percy can’t tell what.  He doesn’t really care at the moment, though, because this seems to be his cue to join a small group of others protecting the door.  Among them are Jason and Thalia, standing close to each other, faces drawn in a scowl that must’ve been hereditary.  They were an excellent team; Thalia handling the further away threats as Jason easily bashed in the skulls of anything daft enough to get within a few feet of him. 

            Reyna joins them before Percy can, hoisting a gun off her shoulder and aiming it effortlessly at a swarm approaching.  She teaches Thalia that buckshots can be even more effective than arrows with one shot.

            A little further away (luckily) is Leo, a lighter in one hand, a glass bottle of gasoline with a rag for a tail in the other.  Leo lights the rag, screams “Fire in the hoe!” which Percy thinks is a bastardization of the actual saying, and chucks it into a little gathering of zombies heading their way.

            They light, but don’t die, again granting them the power over not only disease but also fire, and begin to shamble quickly their way.

            Percy starts to aim to take them down, but something grabs his shoulders.  The hands are cold and unbelievably powerful.  He can hear the wheezing behind him now.  He tries to squirm free, to look over his shoulder at the zombie holding onto him.

            It has fluffy, dark hair that mostly hid its face.  Its mouth hangs open, lines of drool dripping over its thin lips.  Its skin is jaundice.

            Percy can’t help to think that, despite the decay, the creature looks familiar.

            A voice over the bullhorns becomes clear for a split second. “ _LET HIM GO!_ ” Percy hears the words only; no voice to accompany it.  The young, recently-changed zombie’s grip loosens a little.

            A half a second later, Annabeth swoops in before it can decide whether it should bite him or move on.  She grabs it by its hair, yanks its head back, and stabs it under its chin.  It growls a death rattle as it drops to its knees, slowly releasing Percy’s shoulders.  Percy, understandably shaken, glances at Annabeth and, with as much heart as can be gathered at a time like this, says, “Th-thank you.”

            She smiles a little. “Of course, Seaweed Brain.” She pulls him over the corpse and to the front lines where, tirelessly and with balls of steel, the spriest of the survivors duel with those diseased and dead until the living were once again in the majority.

            The Hunters on their rooftop perches begin aiming at the accumulative pile at the side of the mess hall.  Their combined efforts greatly decrease the threat of invasion.

            It takes hours and, by the end of it, all involved in the effort are too tired to deal with corpse disposal today.  They aren’t, however, are not so exhausted that they forego protocol.  As soon as the immediate threat is under control, they split up (not usually recommended, but protocol is flexible in this case) and begin to sweep the grounds, ensuring nothing nasty is waiting in any of the huts.  Meanwhile, the surviving Hunters extend a kindness by working to momentarily erect the admittedly faulty fence around camp until something better could be put in its place. 

            Percy heads off to one the huts closer to the front fence.  The Hunters’ remaining means of transport groan at him and pull at their ropes to reach him.  Percy can’t help but grin a little.  He’d had a complete _hoot_ over the signs dangling around the zombies’ necks.  He wasn’t sure why they were his “friends” exactly, as he personally didn’t see them do too much to help (as is typical of Percy; he was focusing on the creatures nearby him, not the creatures attacking other creatures in the background), but he was willing to let that slide because damn, those signs were great.

            Percy ducks into a hut, stifling a yawn and shining the flashlight around lazily.  He can’t stop thinking about his nearest-death encounter that day.  When the fluffy-haired, recently-turned zombie was holding onto him.  He knows now who the zombie resembled.  Nico, of course, in all his short, fluffy-haired glory.  Percy hadn’t paid attention to the creature’s attire, so he has no idea if the thing that almost ate him is the same thing that would never try to eat him.

            Anxiety is building up, though.  What if it was Nico?  What if all this waiting, this floating in purgatorial cluelessness, was to be met with nothing but the despair he had pushed aside as a complete impossibility?  What if Nico was dead and gone, at the hands of first his sister and second Annabeth?  What then?  How would he live with this new reality, this permanentness unlike the permanentness he’d thought Nico would bring?  No longer a symbol of deathly life but a symbol of absolute mortality, the complete fragility of life proven by stealing the health, the _existence_ ,away from an incredible individual like Nico.  How was the world even supposed to keep turning without him?  Without that snark, that god-awful habit of snoring, his tendencies to curse like a sailor, but in an affectionate way, his admitted Mythomagic nerdiness, without his reluctant smiles and soft chuckles, without his—

            Percy has to make himself stop.  He can’t take an existential revelation* right now.  He’s got to sweep the huts.

            (*excessive tears and faux-philosophical ramblings.)

            The first hut he visits is free of life, both the genuine kind and otherwise.  The second has a crippled zombie in it, one who greeted him with a very cute “graaaaahhh” before he gouged its eye out and dragged it out onto the doorstep.

            Just as he was fixing to check out the third hut, something rams into his side.  It hits him with enough power to take him _down_.  It squirms wildly and presses its cool face against the side of his neck and, voice hoarse and broken, croaks, “H-hey, shit…sh-shithead…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *scat sings*


	38. Percy's Neck Takes a Beating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Percy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure why the last chapter was formatted so strangely. Sorry about that friends. I'll probably fix it soon 'cos it'll bother me otherwise. 
> 
> A lot of miserable music went into writing this chapter (I might've almost cried maybe who knows hahahahahahahAHAHaAHaaA)

            There’s something _very_ wrong with his voice.  It sounds like Bianca’s did when she was straining to rip Nico’s throat out.  Percy goes still.  He can hear Annabeth yelling for him from across the yard.  This must look really bad.  It must look like Nico is tryingto rip _his_ throat out.

            Nico’s gripping at his shoulder blades, his body shaking.  Percy notices something.  He can’t actually feel his face against his neck.  Something’s blocking it.  Percy can hear the ragged breathing amplified by it.  Nico’s body is still overwhelmed with shakes, his hands jittering wildly as they try to establish a grip on Percy’s shirt.

            Annabeth is running their way, a gun in her hand.  Nico’s head is too close to Percy’s for her to make a shot, though.  Percy knows this for a fact.  He’s too shocked to move, to say anything.  He’s afraid that purgatorial wait has come to an end and that the end is the unthinkable.  Nico, _his_ Nico, would never tackle him like that.  At least not here, not in front of people.  He was typically more reserved in front of people.  No, this was a very un-Nico-like thing to do.

            Annabeth skids to a stop and grabs Nico by the nape.  He makes some noise Percy can’t pinpoint and is pulled away roughly.  And then Percy sees it.

            No, he’s not clad in his aviator jacket, not swallowed by a flannel or two, not showing his arms in a t-shirt.  No, in fact, Nico is _wearing_ something very un-Nico-like, almost as un-Nico-like as the tackle thing.

            Nico’s dressed in riot gear.

            A bullhorn hangs at his side. 

            A Plexiglas cover casts the sun’s early shine off his face.

            Annabeth knocks the cover off of him and aims the gun, her hands trembling.

            “Bitch, chill.”

            It’s Nico.

            Oh yeah, it’s Nico, all bright-eyed and olive-skinned, with a silver tongue and a snug glare and a very, very alive temperament.

            He unabashedly slaps the drooping muzzle of gun away from him and twists free of her hold. “ _God_ y-you come back from the d-dead and suddenly e-everyone wants you d-dead again.  _Rude_.”

            Annabeth’s gaping.

            Percy’s face breaks out into a grin.  He sits up and grabs Nico, pulling him into a hug so overly tight it makes Nico grunt and wiggle. “A-again, t-trying not to die t-twice here, J-Jackson.”

            Percy laughs and rests his head against Nico’s belly, totally forgetting about Annabeth for a moment.

            “…I’m sorry, _what_ is happening here?” she asks, looking between the two with something like righteous anger and utter confusion on her face.

            Percy stands, still holding Nico around the waist (he squeaks when his feet leave the ground, though he will not admit it) and says, “This is the person I was waiting for.  Nico di Angelo.”

            Annabeth relaxes a little. “It’s good to see he’s well.” She pauses for a second. “And I’m sorry, of course, for almost shooting you in the face.”

            Nico peers over Percy’s shoulder. “It’s n-not the first time it’s happened.  You’re g-good.” His voice is a complete mess from yelling into the bullhorn for so long.  His limbs feel about ten pounds heavier, thanks to the riot gear.  He still doesn’t feel 100%, either, but he’ll keep that to himself.  He doesn’t want to be babied.  Well, not right off the bat, at least.  And not in front of this blonde girl who apparently thinks it’s her job to behead anybody who hugs Percy.

            She offers a wan smile and attempts smalltalk. “So, Nico, you came in with the Hunters?”

            He nods and does his best to clear his throat.  He taps it a little and says, “Y-yeah.  S-sorry, my voice is a-about to give out.” He wants badly to shower Percy with his affection, to seek comfort against the solidness of Percy.  But he feels that would not be a good idea with this chick standing here.

            Annabeth nods a little and starts away.  Then she notices something.  It’s barely visible, peeking out from the neck of Nico’s too-big gear.  It’s a definite bite mark.

            She looks at Percy, keeping herself controlled, and says, “After you finish your sweeps, we need to talk.” She gives Nico a worried once-over before heading back to her huts. 

            Percy frowns a little and gently lets Nico back down.  Nico, now convinced they probably wouldn’t be interrupted again, hugs back onto his waist and buries his face. “I-I…”

            Percy pulls him into one of the cleared huts and sits him down on a bunk.  Nico decides he doesn’t want to talk experiences, though.  He doesn’t want to cry and sob and “let it all out”.  Not right now.  He needs to prioritize.  He knows that, after what he has to say, Percy won’t be up for anything but moping.  And, frankly, he needs some physicality.  He needs a reminder that not all touch is painful.  He wants to begin his decline with the reassurance that not every touch hurts, not every touch is designed to make him feel like he’s being torn apart, to make him cry.  He doesn’t want any of the touches that burned his skin, not in the way they had at Bengele’s institution.  He wants the good kind of burn.  The kind that ignites your nerves, spreads like a wildfire, makes you _want_ to burn.  He wants to be engulfed in Percy’s fire, to lose all worry for a few sweet moments as he burns, burns, burns under Percy’s touch.

            And dammit, he’s going to get it.

            He doesn’t let Percy see any of the weakness on his face.  He straddles his lap and pulls him into a kiss.  Percy makes a little sound against his lips, but he doesn’t resist him.  He slides a hand into Nico’s hair, the other resting on his hip, and pulls him close.  Nico holds onto his collar like it would kill him to let it go and kisses him hard.  He will _not_ be viewed as a victim today.  He will be anything else Percy wants for him to be, but he _won’t_ be a victim.

            Percy is admittedly shocked by Nico’s forwardness.  Like, he’s not _complaining_ , but it definitely wasn’t what he was expecting.  If Nico’s being honest with himself, he wasn’t exactly expecting to take this path either.  But hey.  Carpe diem, brother.

            Nico drags his teeth along Percy’s neck, a small smile on his face.  He speckles it with gentle kisses, licks, nibbles.  He marks Percy as his with a hickey where his neck meets his shoulder.  Cups a hand under his jaw and nips him hard enough to leave a mark, but not to break the skin.  Kisses his chin and lays his head against his collar, taking a minute to catch his breath.  He nuzzles his nose against Percy’s chest, closing his eyes a little. “I-I missed you.”

            Percy smiles a little and tilts Nico’s head up so he can look him in the eye.  He raises a brow lazily, eyes all hooded, hair all wild from the earlier battle, and says, “I missed you too, Neeks.”

Nico kisses him again, feeling waves of familiarity and comfort wash over him with every passing blush of contact.  He lets Percy take charge quickly.  With Nico still straddling his hips, it’s easy for Percy to flip him over and slide between his legs, kissing him with all the energy he has left.

            Nico bunches his hair up in a fist and uses his other hand to explore Percy’s chest.  He’s forever pleased with the bumps and rolls of his trim muscles, with the smooth skin of his flanks.  He’s positively _riveted_ by it.

            Percy kisses him lazily for a long while, the both of them moving and moaning whenever appropriate, sharing gentle touches, breathing sentiment to the shells of one another’s ears, intertwining until they’re both certain they could not be torn apart.

            Percy supports himself on an elbow, against which Nico has tucked his head, and grins a crooked grin down at Nico.  They watch each other in easy silence for a few long moments, Percy’s shirt crinkled and messy, Nico still securely wrapped in his unwrinkable riot gear.  Percy breaks out into a dorky smile and kisses Nico’s nose. “I’m s-so happy you’re here.”

            Nico rubs his knee against a particular part of Percy’s anatomy and smiles lazily. “I-I can tell.”

            Percy laughs a little, kissing his neck. “As m-much I’d love to, but I’m t-totally exhausted from the whole ‘saving c-camp’ thing.”

            Nico sneers. “Y-you? ‘Saving camp’?  C-cute.  Me and the g-girls did most of the work.”

            “ _Bah_.  Ridiculous.”

            Nico rolls his eyes and pulls him back into a gentle kiss.  He knows he has to tell him.  He knows it needs to be soon.  He’s just not sure if now’s the right time.

            “Oh!” Percy exclaims, digging in his pocket for a moment.  He uncovers the skull ring and smiles, putting it back on Nico’s middle finger where it belongs.

            Nico smiles a little and drags a knee along his side. “Th-thanks for holding onto that for me, Jackson.”

            Percy smiles. “O-of course, Neeks.”

            Nico’s about to make Percy much happier when the moment is ungracefully ruined.

            “Hey, Percy, I—” Piper stops in the doorway and evaluates the situation.  She looks over Nico, notices the ring, notices (astutely) that Percy is on top of Nico and is covered with hickeys, and frowns. “So,” she says, crossing her arms, “your ‘Nicole’ is a boy, huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU GUYS WERE EXPECTING SOMETHING SAD WEREN'T YOU HAAAAAAAAA (haha yeah no that's next chapter ;D) 
> 
> MY VAGUE NICO UPDATES WEREN'T DAMNING AFTER ALL HAHAAAAAA
> 
> I'm a huge sap and you're WELCOME. I was nice to them for a chapter. You all know that will not last long as the majority of this is built around the key word of the title: "angst".
> 
> I'm probably going to post a one-shot of how this situation COULD'VE gone down if Nico had, in fact, been a ghoul. I can guarantee you there would be a lot less snuggling. 
> 
> Though, not gonna lie, I was really tempted to make Nico an R-esque zombie, what with the uncomfortable embraces and the very un-zombie-like characteristics and jazz, but nah. Maybe another day. :D 
> 
> Sorry this took so long. I started out with a really sappy reunion and then I was like "wait a second these two wouldn't probably do that" and had to rework the majority of it. And like I really wasn't in the mood for writing scenes like this so I'm just sorta :/ with the results but WHATEVER.


	39. Nicole is in a Tizzy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy explains the whole Nico thing to Piper. Nico has the munchies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, but boys roughhousing playfully is my lifeblood and will be included at all costs. 
> 
> ALSO  
> This isn't really the sad chapter. It's coming, but this isn't it. This is more fluff and teenagy angst because NEH. When the zombies are at bay, the hormones play. 
> 
> I'm really proud of that rhyme, shut up.
> 
> More stuff about Nico's return and revival and all that will be included in the next chapter, as that is really tedious and I like procrastinating. 
> 
> BASICALLY what this whole chapter is is just like a little reprieve from all the stuff I've recently put you through (as I am a dick). 
> 
> This is really short tho, sorry. There might be another update later on, depending on how much book work I get done and all that stuff.

            “ _Nicole?_ ”

            “I panicked!”

            Nico punches Percy in the chest.  Percy swats at his hands as he reaches to whack him in the face.

            Piper slides inside and closes the door behind her. “All right, boys, let’s refrain from the slapfest for a little while, why don’t we?”

            “He called me _Nicole!_ ”

            “It’s close enough!  It has ‘Nico’ in it!”

            “And ‘le’, which is _not_ part of my name, Pricilla!”

            “That doesn’t even have my name in it!”

            Nico squirms indignantly beneath Percy, pushing on his tummy with his foot. “It’s _close enough!_ ”

            Piper takes a seat because this is clearly going to take some time to sort out.

            Nico groans, laying his head back. “I don’t wanna be a Nicoooooole!”

            Percy leans in, nose-to-nose with the disgruntled Nico. “Too bad, _Nicole_.”

            Nico glares and knees that particular part of anatomy mentioned earlier.

            Percy winces and groans, allowing himself to lay flat on top of Nico as he experiences testicular tribulation.

            Nico peeps. “ _Y-you’re going to crush me!_ ”

            Percy grins a little, his face resting by his ear. “You already cr-crushed an important p-part of m-me.  F-fair’s fair.”

            Nico flushes and pushes on his chest.

            Piper cups her chin in her palm and sighs. “I see you two are awful loving.”

            “The l-lovingest,” Percy mumbles, refusing to push off of the wiggling, blushing di Angelo beneath him.

            Piper taps her foot. “You know, Percy, this _really_ isn’t going to go over well with Annabeth.”

            Nico pushes at Percy’s face. “A-Annabeth?”

            Percy nods a little and nuzzles into his hair. “Y-yeah.  She’s my g-girlfriend, just…I-I didn’t even know if sh-she was still alive, to be honest, Neeks.  I’m sorry.”

            Nico frowns a little.  He can’t say he doesn’t understand, though.  He lets it slide because, after all, he knows where he’s coming from.  Life in tentative at best nowadays.  It does, however, put them in an awkward place.  And that’s not just because he’s still pinned underneath Percy.

            “D-don’t worry about it,” he says after a moment, only a little deflated.  He decides to test his luck. “B-but I don’t really want to share you.”

            Percy laughs a little. “I figured not.”

            Piper pipes up (hA) before that can devolve too much more. “Would you get off him, Percy?  Let me see the little guy.”

            Percy snickers and rolls to the side, exposing the ruffled Nico.  He sits up a little, glaring stoutly, and says, “I’m n-not a _little guy_.  I’m not even _little_.”

            “You’re pretty little.”

            Nico’s a ball of irritation and Italian expletives by this point.  Percy grins fondly at him and kisses that sweet spot just over his ear.  Nico pushes halfheartedly at his chest, a snug pout still on his face.

            Piper runs a hand through her hair. “PDA, Jackson, _gosh_.” She straightens herself out a little and takes a deep breath. “All right.  How’d you two meet?”

            Percy glances at Nico, who waves a hand like “do whatever” and starts chewing on a hangnail.  Percy looks back to Piper as Nico flops onto the mattress behind him and begins the story.

            “Okay, so like, I was in New York City, right?  And I heard this crazy yelling and I was like ‘Who the _hell_ is stupid enough to be yelling right now?  It’s the apocalypse!’ and I went to go check it out only to find that it was this little prick.”

            Nico raises his foot a little, as if to show he was the prick in question.

            “And he’s like yelling in the middle of Central Park but nothing’s coming at him and I’m like ‘This is really weird’, so I went to go check it out and all the zombies nearby just come swarming toward me and I’m like ‘ _Shit_ ’ and I start to, like, do all my _amazing_ moves and stuff—”

            “You swung the machete at random and made a lot of effeminate ‘eh’ sounds, don’t lie.”

            “—and then all of a sudden, Neeks here just tells the zombies to buzz off _and they listen to him!_ This guy’s fluent in zombie-ese!”

            Nico puffs out his chest.

            “So, anyways, we like, teamed up and whatnot and started on the way back here.  Hijacked a car ‘cos I, uh, well, _misplaced_ mine.  Almost died in the process.  Met a cannibal guy who almost killed Neeks.”

            “Cleft, the man with the not name,” Nico murmurs around his finger.

            Percy is on a roll now.  There’s no way he’s stopping until he’s relayed all their travels to Piper. “And like, the Cleft dude got Neeks all concussed and stuff, and when he was all wonked out he was like ‘Percy, I love you’—”

            “You never told me I said that!”

            “Well you did!  Anyways, I was like ‘whoa there’ but I guess he kinda grew on me because, well, I _was_ just on top of him, so like—”

            Nico kicks his side. “ _Jackson!_ ”

            “Anyways, so as we were going along, we ran into these nasty guys who, like, tried to turn us into undead experiments and stuff, but the Hunters showed up and kicked _ass_ , so we got away without too much trouble, I guess, and like, set off, and then…”

            He frowns. “Some…unfortunate stuff happened, uh, and Neeks got scratched, and got sick, and, and…” Percy sighs.  Nico’s rolled onto his side, his back to them. “He had to go back to the nasty experiment guys ‘cos they’ve got the cure.” Percy beams. “And the cure, apparently, works!” Percy puts a hand on Nico’s hip and gives him a little shake, smiling.

            Piper gapes.  She sits forward a little, blowing her crooked bangs out of her face. “There’s a cure?”

            Nico curls up tighter.

            “Of course,” Percy chirps. “That’s why he’s here right now.”

            Nico shrugs a little.  His voice sounds hollow and, suddenly, very worried. “N-not sure how well i-it works, Perce.”

            Percy frowns. “What do you mean?”

            Nico sits up a little.  His mouth is bloody.  The finger with the hangnail’s not in great shape.  Nico has a terrified shine to his eyes, but he maintains his exterior well. “I-I don’t think I-I’m quite fixed, P-Percy.”

            Piper screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *raps away the angry comments*


	40. *Innuendo About Fingers*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nico and Annabeth meet again. It's weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *groans loudly because this is poorly written* 
> 
> I ALLOWED MYSELF TO DROP ONE F BOMB THROUGHOUT THIS WHOLE THING AND I CHOSE THIS CHAPTER  
> DID I WASTE IT  
> PROBABLY  
> BUT I CAN LIVE WITH THAT
> 
> I wanna say thank you again for like all the comments in stuff cos they tend to make my days like a lot better and jazz so thank you muchly <3 
> 
> Unrelated  
> There's still going to be an alternate ending, even though this thing didn't really end when I was expecting it to, but whatever :D I'll probably give you the alternate ending first tbh 
> 
> this is actually really long which is as much a shock to me as it probably is to you

            Bengele sterilizes a needle and jabs it into the arm of a thrashing carrier of the Mor-6 virus.  She pushes down the plunger slowly, watching the host in the eye. “This is your second and last bout of vaccine.  Perhaps after this you’ll be so kind as to _not_ snap at our nurses.” She speaks like she would to a toddler, adding emphasis to each syllable and dipping each word in sweetness as artificial as Splenda.

            The girl on the table glares at her through glassy cataract’d eyes.  She’d had the first shot a week ago.  This, the second, is designed to prevent her from lapsing into death and eventual (almost immediate) reanimation.  But she’d prefer death over living with the memories of what this institute has done to her.  Even in her pre-death state, her mind a blur of disease and dehydration, she knows this.

            The cure races through her veins like liquid fire.  Feeling in her extremities trickles back into existence like bursts of point-blank fireworks.  She wheezes and screams, clawing at the table.

            Bengele jots down a note and watches under hooded lids as the girl writhes away from death’s embrace and into the horrific, fluorescent-glare of life.

 

            Nico’s staring at his hand, at the gentle pulse pumping out from the side of his pointer. “I-I…” He’s pale, his voice shaking. “I-I didn’t feel it.”

            Percy, shaken as well, loops a hand behind Nico’s head and gently coaxes him to look up at him. “Didn’t feel what, Neeks?” He barely wins the fight to keep his voice from taking on a sort of fearful vibrato.

            “Breaking th-the skin, I guess, I…” He blinks hard glancing down at his hand. “I guess, like…I-I didn’t even really taste the blood?  I d-didn’t feel it when I should’ve a-and I didn’t taste the blood.  I…”

            Piper stands up. “I’m getting Annabeth.”

            Percy glances up. “Piper, please don’t—”

            He’s a little late, though, because she’s already long gone.  He grimaces a little and looks back to Nico.  He pinches his arm.

            “Ow!  Wh-what the hell, Jackson?” Nico pushes at his arm a little, looking personally offended.

            “So you could feel that?”

            “ _Yeah_ , it’s just my fingers that are numb, _not my whole nervous system_.”

            Percy rolls his eyes. “Can you taste, uh,” Percy looks around himself desperately for something Nico could taste.  He settles, finally, on the wood of the bunk bed. “Lick the wood.”

“This is hardly the time, Percy.”

“ _Of the bed_.”

            “Oh,” Nico says, suddenly refusing eye contact. “I don’t see what it’ll prove, but…” He does as Percy said, grimaces and smacking his lips afterwards. “It tastes like wood stain.” He sticks his tongue out. “And sweat.”

            “So you just couldn’t taste your blood?”

            Nico stops to think for a second. “I-it’s either that, or all I can t-taste is wood stain and sweat.”

            Percy taps his foot.  He’s not totally sure what that means, but it’s probably something, he decides.

Percy is acutely aware that if Nico’s still sick— _sick_ sick—that he might be in danger as well.  But he refuses to recognize that.  He also understands that, at this point, kissing Nico again isn’t going to make him more or less infected, so he goes on ahead and does it.

When Percy pulls away, hands still cupping the soft angles of his face, Nico is looking up at him with his emotions all over his face.  Whether he intends to look this way or not, his face begs for resolution.  His eyes are like puddles, catching the light filing in through the slats in the ceiling, watching him with so much trust it made his stomach churn.  Nico is looking at him like he can singlehandedly cure the plague and heal the undead if he just dedicated an afternoon to the whole thing.  He’s looking at him with more fear than Percy knew could exist in his Nico di Angelo.  He’s, if Percy’s being honest here, looking at him with the amount of fear appropriate in this situation.  He’s mirroring Percy’s own panic, but times ten.  He’s trying to believe something can fix him, something can fix him without hurting him, and as much as Percy wants to be that something, he’s not sure if Nico can be fixed.  And, if he can, if it’s possible to be painless.

            Percy doesn’t say that though.  He doesn’t let on that he thinks any of this.  He does his best to close off his face behind a compassionate front, to soften the edges of his expression, to school his face into something comforting rather than worrying.  He strokes little circles on Nico’s cheek and watches those big puddle eyes. “We’ll get you all fixed up, Neeks.  Don’t worry, okay?  You’re going to be fine.”

            Nico thinks this is the dumbest thing he has ever heard.  He’s really mad at himself for believing it.  Percy uses words like that sometimes.  There’s nothing particularly special about the words themselves, of course; they’re just combinations of various vowels and consonants, forming thoughts with meanings, flowing through a sentence that, written, has no real meaning.  No real inflection.  But how Percy speaks it to him, with the softest purr on the end of “worry”, the affection click on the “k” of “Neeks”, the powerful assurance on “fine”.  It’s like he’s speaking a truth he knows for absolute certain, a concept he’s mastered, a story he wrote the end to—Nico can’t help but be lead into believing him.

             He presses his forehead against Percy’s. “I-I hope you’re right, Jackson.”

            They jerk apart as Annabeth enters, Piper trailing after her.  She holds up a hand before either can speak and says simply, “Piper already told me.  Save it.” She kneels in front of Nico and says, “Let me see you hand.”

            Nico’s more than a little baffled. “Did…d-did she tell you everything?”

            “Of course,” Annabeth says, clearly trying to be patient with him.  She shoots Percy a look that confirms both of their fears and says again, “Please let me see your hand.”

            Nico, struck dumb, obeys her.  She looks it over and digs a roll of gauze from off a pouch at her side.  Before fastening it around his fingers, she gently applies some antiseptic, warning him that it would hurt a little, and holds onto his hand until the burn of it has passed.  Nico’s still gaping.

            As Annabeth wraps up his finger, she says, “What events lead up to this?  Like, how did you end up in the, ah, ‘experiment guys’’ lab?”

            Nico’s staring at her.  He glances to Percy, then back to Annabeth, and repeats the process twice before blurting, “I fucked your boyfriend, aren’t you m-mad?”

            Percy’s pretty sure now that Nico has a death wish.

            Annabeth bristles a little. “ _Now_ isn’t the time to be mad.  _Now_ is the time for you to answer my damn question.”

            Nico takes a second to respond. “I-I…uh…a-at the institute, th-they let me g-get…like, within m-minutes from changing, b-but…they gave me the first bout o-of cure…th-then, probably t-two days ago, one of the Hunters i-in there I was supposed to find g-grabbed me and had me…l-like, protect her, a-as we escaped…she w-was the one to get the gear a-and the car, not me…th-then we were b-back with the Hunters a-and I-I suggested the sled thing…” He nods at Percy a little. “I-I…I’m pretty sure…they weren’t f-finished with me wh-when the girl, A-Ariana, took me…I-I…” He watches his lap. “I-I’m sorry.”

            Percy runs a hand through his hair and wets his lips.  He can’t watch Nico deteriorate again.  He knows he can’t do that.  He has to get him that cure. 

            Annabeth frowns a little.  She can read Percy better than anyone else.  She knows the look of manic determination creeping into his eyes.  She knows what he’s thinking.

            “No, Percy.”

            He glances over. “But—”

            “ _No._ ” She feels bad, don’t misinterpret.  She sighs. “Percy, we don’t have the manpower to do something like that.  We can’t raid their facility or anything.  We probably don’t even have enough ammunition left over to make it all the way there.” She gestures vaguely toward the door. “I imagine if they have riot gear and armored cars and whatnot, that they’ll be well-armed.  Am I right?”

            Percy’s dejected look answers her question.

            She sighs again, softly. “We need to get the cure.  Soon, I agree.  But right now…it’s just not logical.”

            Nico nods a little.  He accepts it.  Even if he might not like agreeing with the other person who shares Percy’s affections, he can’t really help it.  If he were in her place, he would’ve said the same. 

            But that doesn’t make his fate any less sealed or him any less despondent.

            There’s a long moment of silence, during which none of the four even make a sound, before Nico says, “D-do you guys have something other than riot gear I could wear?  This st-stuff… _chafes_.”  

           

            Typically, it’s not customary to wear baggy clothes nowadays.  Bagginess means handholds for zombies and handholds for zombies means one’s more likely to get the plague and more likely to get the plague means a much greater chance for death means, of course, zombification.  But Nico didn’t really care about that, given he was already on the “contract the plague” step.  And, dammit, if he was going out, he’d be doing it comfortably.

            Swaddled in a stranger’s sweatpants and one of Percy’s shirts, Nico settles against Percy on a bunk to enjoy a can of pear halves.  They’d assessed, through brief trial and error, that Nico could not taste anything composed of meat.  He said it had tasted “like gray, if gray had a taste”.

            But fruit, no matter how doused in preservatives, was still on the table.

            For the evening, until a better option could be found, the occupants of the camp had been dispatched to their respective huts (those with potential health hazards in theirs, of course, moved in with others) until they could figure out a relocation or thorough sanitation plan.  This meant that Percy, his family, Jason, a few others from infected cabins and Nico were all scrunched together for the evening.

            Percy’s family had been interested in Nico, but wary of him.  The loose collar of Percy’s shirt clearly displayed the messy sutures and bite wounds marring the right side of his shoulder and neck.  Jason was nice to him, because Jason’s nice to everyone, but even he has his list of Cannot Handles.  And that list starts and ends with zombie whisperers who are very clearly crawling with disease.

            This though, of course, does not stop Percy.  He’s decided that he won’t let lingering illness deter him from showering Nico with affection, as is Percy’s way.  So as Nico enjoys his pears, Percy insists he keep his head on his collar, his back to his chest.  Something like vertical spooning.

            Nico waits until he’s at least mostly sure everyone else is dozing before he speaks. “It was really bad, Percy.”

            Percy wraps an arm around his belly and pulls him closer. “Do you want to talk about it?” He thinks about the warmth of Nico’s skin.  He can’t decide if it feels like a brewing fever.

            Nico waits before nodding imperceptivity.  He drinks some of the pear juice from the can and tucks his knees up. “They…” He watches the mattress with dull eyes. “They r-ran a lot of tests on me and stuff.” He drapes his arm over Percy’s and grabs for his fingers. “They had me…they had me stand in the back of a room a-and try to talk down Ragers and normal zombies and…and some of the other in-betweens they had in there…” He shivers a little.  With his arms exposed, it was clear by the needle-dots marring the cruxes of his elbows that he had played pincushion while there.  Percy decides to not mention them.

            Nico has a faraway look on his face. “T-to be honest, I can’t remember most of it.  I just remember…hurting.  Always, forever hurting.  E-everything hurt.  _Thinking_ hurt, Percy, wh-which is probably something you c-can relate to.” Nico elbows Percy’s ribs playfully, doing his best not to drag him into the mire that was his current mindset.

            Percy grins a little and puts his chin on top of Nico’s head. “You got me there.”

            Nico smiles just barely and says, “I thought about you a lot.”

            “Really?”

            Nico nods as best he can with a Percy chin on his head. “Yep.  I couldn’t think about much else, actually.  I worried myself _sicker_ about you.”

            Percy smiles. “Really?”

            Nico nods. “Really.  I just…I kept thinking you were in trouble, I guess?  Especially near the end, I…” Nico wipes furiously at his nose. “I dunno, I kept thinking you were dead and gone and stuff…or that you were about to be, and…” He shrugs away a inundation of emotion. “I-I guess I was hallucinating or something.”

            Percy kisses Nico’s hair and puts his head on his shoulder. “I’m shocked and flattered that I was the subject matter of your pre-death hallucinations.”

            “You best be.”

            Percy smiles a little.  His heart feels unbelievably heavy.  If he weren’t so tired, he’d stay up all night, talking and talking until subjects ran dry and then just looking, memorizing Nico, making it so he could never really forget the way his hair falls or the way his nose turns up or the way that, when he got close enough, he could pick out the angel-kissed freckles on the tips of his ears.  If his eyelids weren’t drooping shut right now, he’d do just that.  He’d share time with Nico, in the privacy of sleeping company, learning the exact curves of one another’s necks, the texture of every patch of skin, the flavor of even the hidden spots, the everything of each other’s everythings.

            But his body was forcing him to sleep.  He’d never been quite so exhausted.  And, considering the way Nico’s muscles were relaxing, he guessed he was feeling about the same.

            So, with the half-full can of pear juice placed on the floor, the two of them dozed, vertical-spooning against the wall of a scrap-metal hut, rocked to sleep by the humidity of over-full space and the faraway lullaby of the unfortunately reanimated groaning disjointedly. 

            They slept like babies.

            The next morning, Percy woke up tired.  He wouldn’t have thought anything of it if Nico hadn’t woken up the same way.

            It comes to mind without permission:

_Fatigue is the first sign._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had Percy imitate Augustus Waters' speaking patterns a little in here  
> I'm not sorry at all
> 
> in other news is there a serial killer au for this ship because i can and will be all over that most likely


	41. The Most Filliest of All Filler Chapters Chock-Full of Copious Amounts of Well-Earned Fluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nico and Percy are very tired. Annabeth is tired too, but only of their couply bullshit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, this fic is stupendously long. Like what the hell when did it become 189 pages long stop that you
> 
> I watched the entirety of the Thriller music video for this chapter that's how you know I'm dedicated to accuracy 
> 
> ALSO  
> I always listen to music as I write this so like if you guys have any particular songs you think go along well with this, PLEASE let me know. I'm always looking for new writing music C:
> 
> Not gonna lie, "When the Day Met the Night" fits the first bit of this pretty well imho
> 
> Tbh basically all of this chapter is just me trying to get used to all of the characters interacting as usual again. There's very little actually important about it aside from bad puns and loads of just painfully bad humor. It's the bomb. 
> 
> So I'll try to whip up a better chapter tomorrow, like one that actually makes more sense, but for now ta-da.
> 
> But GOSH I love writing fluff like WOW. I almost had some raspberries in there but then I was like "control yourself". 
> 
> I'm still laughing at some of the jokes I made oh gosh it must be late

Percy buries his face in the mattress and groans.  In the night, he’d flopped onto his side, bringing Nico with him.  Nico is already awake (as much as he will be for the next few hours), pinned under Percy’s arm and thigh.  He grumbles and pushes at Percy’s chest, groggily murmuring at him to get up. “Jackson, c’monnn…” He wiggles his hips a little, almost certain his hip bones were digging holes in the interior of Percy’s thigh, and groans when Percy just turns more toward him.

He paws at his face. “Percyyy…we gotta get up…”

Percy’s response comes muffled through their thin cot. “Says who?”

“My stomach.  C’mon, I’m starving.” Nico slides closer to Percy’s warmth anyways. “I want so’more pears and such…” He yawns a little and corrects the position of Percy’s arm, making it drape over his tummy.

“And gray meat,” Percy mumbles.

Nico pushes at his chin gently. “No gray meat.  Nah.” He wraps his hand around Percy’s thumb and holds onto it. “Pears n’ peaches.”

Percy groans.  He tries to lay flat on his belly, only to find that a di Angelo impedes that, and, in the end, he just flops his thigh over Nico’s hips and tucks his head against the top of Nico’s.

Nico murmurs, grinning.  He wiggles back a little. “God, I missed that.”

“ _Please_ , you barely ever _had_ that.”

“Then _give it to me_ , Jack-sonny.”

“Jack-whatty?  What the hell, Neeks.”

“You missed the point of the sentiment, Jackson.”

            Percy yawns again and shifts. “Whatever, Neeks.  We can’t right now, like, we’ll wake people an’ stuff.  Like me.” He closes his eyes again and enjoys the warmth of Nico’s feverish skin.  Nico holds onto his thumb tighter.

            “You really don’t have to worry about waking us, Percy,” his mother says, taking his foot and guiding his leg so it would not be crushing Nico’s hips.

            This makes Percy wake up a little more.  He sits up, blinking the sleep out of his eyes, and yawns.  Nico rolls over on his front and groans. “Secret’s out, Perce.  I guess they all know we’re _hella gay_.”

            “Pretty sure I’m bi, Neeks.”

            “ _Hella gay and bi_.”

            Sally smiles a little, like she’s used to this sort of thing, but never really comfortable with it, and says, “Annabeth wants to talk to you two.”

            Nico rolls over, mostly asleep again, and murmurs into Percy’s chest, “She’s gonna cut our dicks off, dude.”

            Percy makes the mistake of not murmuring and loudly laments, “Nooo, not the dicks!”

            Jason glances down from his top bunk across from them with an expression of concern and fear.

            Nico nuzzles his head under Percy’s chin. “Don’t worry, Jackson.  I’ll keep it safe.”

            Sally clears her throat a little. “Annabeth?”

            Percy jerks his head up.  He’s never felt so irrationally exhausted. “R-right.” He manages to get Nico to sit upright for a few seconds as he gets up, pulling on a fresh shirt and running a hand through his hair to perfect the bedhead look.

            Meanwhile, Sally fits over Nico.  She does her best to ignore the bites along his neck and clucks, gently tilting his head from side to side. “You need to eat something, dear,” she says, frowning in genuine concern.  Nico blinks.

            “I try to whenever possible, I assure you,” he mutters, watching the mattress.  He’s suppressing a yawn fiercely because he figures that, what with his sickliness and whatnot, she would not want his gaping mouth anywhere near her. 

            Sally pats his cheek and smiles as warmly as freshly made cornbread. “Well, it’ll be a lot more possible while you’re here.  We’ll get some meat on your bones.”

            Nico quirks a little smile as Percy stumbles over, grabbing his wrist and gently tugging him up. “C’mon, Neeks, let’s see what Annabeth needs.”

            Sally raises a finger excitedly. “Wait!” She bustles back toward Paul and her bunk and grabs Percy’s freshly-tailored leather sleeves.  She fitfully secures them onto Percy and stands on her tiptoes to kiss his forehead.

            Percy smiles and kisses her cheek. “Be back later, Mom.”

            “Be safe, Percy,” she says, smiling warmly and sadly at him.  As he and Nico go to leave, she calls after him, “And don’t forget Riptide!”

            Percy turns and salutes her before grabbing the belt secured to Riptide from beside the door as they head out.  He’s snapping it into place when Nico says, “So your mom seems cool.”

            Percy grins. “Yeah, I guess.”

            Nico watches the ground and latches his hands together.  He keeps his mouth shut about mothers.  He doesn’t want to be a Ronny Raincloud or anything and pull the whole “my mom is dead” card, so he just ignores the whole topic. “So, uh, do you think Annabeth would be cool with us, like, eating before she cuts our dicks off?”

            Percy purses his lips. “She probably would, but I mean, we’re already losing the dicks.  What more can she really do to us?”

            “She could make us Ken-doll smooth.”  

            Percy frowns. “I think it’s worth it for canned fruit.”

            “Definitely.”

            So, putting precious genitalia on the line, the two of them go to the mostly empty, mostly wrecked, mess hall.  Percy manages to snag a sleeve of stale Saltines and some jerky for himself and a can of “fruit cocktail” preserves for Nico before heading to Annabeth’s hut.  She’s waiting outside of it, by the fence, stabbing any lingering zombies in the eye wherever they gather in clumps.  She turns to them, pulling a pair of soiled latex gloves off her hands and shoving them in her pocket.  She looks them over, especially critical of Nico, and says, “Did you two sleep well?”

            Almost in sync, the boys yawn.  Nico shrugs as Percy shimmies his flattened hand halfheartedly. 

            “Great,” she says, wiping her face free of emotion. “Look, Nico, you and I need to talk.”

            “Should I say goodbye to my dick?”

            Annabeth’s puzzled.  Percy’s laughing.

            “…No, I can assure you I won’t be going anywhere near that part of you.” She sighs distastefully. “I need to talk with you about your bites and your illness.”

            Nico rubs his neck a little. “Could we maybe not?  There’s not much to discuss at this point.” He frowns. “Unless I get the cure they’ve cooked up over there, I’m a goner.” He says it like he’d say “We need to return that book to the library” and shrugs.

            Percy’s tightened his hands into fists. “I…”

            Annabeth glances back toward the fence. “It’s regrettable, don’t get me wrong, but…”

            Nico looks up at her. “But you don’t really care.”

            Annabeth grimaces. “It’s not that, it’s just—”

            “No, it’s really that simple.  You don’t care.” Nico runs a hand through his messy hair. “But you really ought to.  Because I can do things you could never do and, frankly, this camp will continue to suffer without me.”

            Annabeth scoffs. “We did fine without you.”

            Nico shrugs. “I can tell, what with the full-scale infestation and such.”

            Annabeth crosses her arms. “That was a matter of faulty material.  You couldn’t have stopped that.”

            Nico sneers. “I could’ve stopped it.  I can control these things like puppets.  Watch.” He turns around, glaring stoutly at the zombies clawing at them.  He sticks his small hand through the chainlink and puts it on top of one of their heads.  He looks it dead in the eye and says, “Dance.”

            The creature sways a little.

            Nico grins. “ _’Cos it’s thriller, thriller night_ ,” he says, his voice mostly flat, but with enough rhythm for the creature’s past self to remember and act on his order.  Its wrists go up, swish to the side a little, then to the other and it takes a few steps to other side, always returning to Nico’s hand.  He smiles a little and slides his hand out, tickling it under its chin affectionately. “Good boy.”

            Percy’s pretty excited. “You didn’t tell me you could make them dance!”

            Nico grins and wipes his hand off on his sweatpants. “I just found out recently myself.”

            Annabeth sighs. “I’m willing to admit that you could, potentially, be useful.  But we _do not_ have the necessary services to get you that vaccine.  I’m sorry.”

            Nico nods a little. “Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he says softly, sticking his hands in his pockets. “I just don’t want to die.”

            Annabeth’s mouth twitches down.  She sighs.  She wants to be mad at this guy.  She wants to be mad at Percy.  She just can’t make herself feel the white-hot rage all the TV shows and young adult novels say she should.  She’s trying, but the best she can muster is an icy exterior toward them both.  But she can tell, with just one glance at Percy, that she won’t be able to stay mad long.

            At him, at least.

            Nico, she thinks guiltily, she won’t have to be mad at for long.  She doesn’t really even need to worry about him.  It makes her feel horrible to think it, like she should speak to a priest or something, but she really has no reason to be threatened by him.  He won’t last long.

            Annabeth looks away from him, as if eye contact will betray her thoughts, and rakes a hand through her hair. “Maybe…” She can’t even think of anything good to say. “Maybe you can try to teach some of us your trick.  You know, so we can…better defend ourselves in…in your absence.”

            “That’s an awfully polite way of saying ‘so we can do without you when you inevitably bite it’.”

            Percy’s not sure what to do in this situation.  He never really imagined any conversation ever going this drastically downhill.

            Annabeth bristles a little. “I just…I just mean that I think it would be in everyone’s best interest if you maybe helped us out.  Piper told me you helped her a little.  She seemed to have caught on pretty quickly.”

            Nico’s already tired of this conversation.  He sips at his fruit cocktail juice and leans against Percy, exhausted by the day and disease. “Then let her teach you.  See, you’re already doing well without me.”

            Usually, Percy would chastise him for being so…well, bitchy.  But he understands the bitterness.  He’s got a week left to live, max, and most of that can’t even be considered “living”, what with the incapacitating illness and all that.  And to be treated like an asset instead of a person within those last days?  To be knocked down beyond his humanity, down to his utility only?  That’s gotta sting.

            Annabeth shakes her head a little. “I need to talk exclusively to Percy for a moment.  Would you excuse us?”

            “You sure you don’t want me under constant observation?  After all, I might bite somebody and start a mini epidemic.”

            Annabeth is _so_ done with his sass. “I’m more worried about the epidemic starting from you jumping into bed with whoever you come across.  The virus can be sexually transmitted, you know.”

            Nico grins this hella creepy grin. “You best not bang your boyfriend any time soon, then.”

            Percy reddens. “We—no, not—I do _not—_ I’m not—”

            Annabeth shakes her head. “Just.  Just, find somewhere else to be for a while, kid.”

            Nico nods and pushes off Percy with some effort.  He does a little half-bow and says, “I’ll be in the bed of whoever I first see.  Collect me whenever.” He sips at his breakfast and limps off, sitting a little while away underneath a tree by the fence.  He chats with the zombies as Annabeth turns to Percy.

            “I honestly thought you had better tastes than that.”

            Percy blinks. “He…he’s a perfectly good guy, Annabeth.  He’s…he’s dying, you can’t…you can’t expect him to be happy and stuff…”

            “He doesn’t have to be so rude, though,” she says, not maliciously, but rather with just a little exasperation.

            “Well, to be fair, he’s always rude.  Just usually…happier and rude.”

            “Charming.”

            Percy frowns.  There’s a persistent stab of pain in the pit of his stomach that intensifies with the duration of this conversation.  He doesn’t want to think about death.  He doesn’t want to think about Nico’s death, especially.  He just wants to enjoy the time they have left.  And he can’t do that, standing here, amusing Annabeth’s lectures.  She’s just beating around the bush.  She wants to tell him off for cheating on her.  He gets that.  But they’ll have plenty of time to work that out…later.

“Just…” he says, glancing back at Nico.  He has the group of zombies in front of him moshing. “We can talk about all this later, can’t we?  Please?”

            Annabeth looks like she has all kinds of venom to spit.  But she swallows it down.  Again, she has to understand where Percy’s coming from.  He had no way of knowing if she was alive.  He had no way of knowing if he would live long enough to confirm whether she was or wasn’t.  But it would’ve been nice to assume that, even if he didn’t know, he wouldn’t just act on his impulses like that.

            It hurts.

            She shakes her head and rubs her temples. “You’re lucky I’ve got other things to do, Seaweed Brain.”

            He smiles a little. “Thanks, Annabeth.  For real, thank you.”

            She offers a wan smile and nods. “Sure.  We’ll talk…we’ll talk later.”

            Percy nods a little, watching the ground, and kisses her forehead before heading back toward Nico.  He just wants to curl up with him and take a nap, if he’s being honest with himself.  Nothing sounds better.

            Nico looks up at him from under his bangs and grins a little. “Is your dick intact?”

            “Yep.  More intact than your social graces will ever be.”

            “Ooh, I’m loving the sass, Jackson.  Persassy Jacksass.”

            “ _Oh my God Nico._ ”

            Nico grins like the cat that ate the cream and says, “My horrible pun-work is part of the reason you like me and you know it.”

            Percy smiles. “You got me there.”

            Nico grabs his collar and pulls himself onto his knees with it. “So.  What’s the plan for the day?”

            “To be honest, I was thinking a nap.”

            Nico nods. “That _does_ sound nice…but I’d like to do something more exciting with my last days.  Not that napping with you isn’t one of my favorite things because, Percy, look me in the eye, I would trade every Mythomagic card in the world if it meant I would be able to cuddle with you for a few hours—”

            “Awwww, Neeks, my tender heart.”

            “—but you see the whole ‘fast-approaching’ death thing is really making me hunger for something more adventurous.”

            “Like what?” Percy asks, putting his hands on Nico’s hips.

            Nico bites his lip a little. “Something stupid.  Please?  Can we do something stupid?”

            “Literally speaking, we do stupid stuff constantly.”

            “A _new level_ of stupid, Percy.  I mean, it’s the damn apocalypse, we’ve got plenty of options for dumb stuff.”

            Percy scrapes his brain for the dumbest of dumb options.  He’s too tired to really think of anything good, so he says, “Could we maybe nap and _then_ do something stupid?”

            Nico smiles a little and nods. “If you’re really that much in need of a nappy-bye, sure.  Sounds fair to me.”

            Percy smiles and picks him up.  Nico’s forehead already has a thin sheen of sweat over it.  He’s trembling a little, clearly of fever, but he makes himself stay aware.  He’s not going to tear Percy down again.

 

            They end up just napping.  By the time they get back to the mostly-empty hut, they’re both too tired to think up anything stupid to do.  They collapse onto Percy’s bunk, Nico curled up on top of him, and doze fitfully for the rest of the afternoon.  By the time they wake up, they’re both sweaty enough to make a shower a necessity (if only there were currently working shower facilities).  They’re both too exhausted to do too much more than drag themselves to dinner, to pick at whatever they were allowed, and then slink back to the cabin.

            Percy doesn’t like feeling this bad.  He’s trying to think of when, exactly, Nico could’ve gotten him sick.  Not to say he was sick or anything.

            But, if he _were_ , hypothetically, of course, sick, there would really only one way he could’ve gotten that way.  And for that, he would’ve had to ingest some of Nico’s blood.  Which he’s sure he didn’t do.

            He notches it up to a bad case of hypochondria and pulls off his shirt, wiping his face with it and yawning.  He grimaces. “God, this thing reeks.”

            Nico has his nose buried in the shirt Percy let him have.  He glances up at him and says, “Well duh. You were wearing it.” He throws his hands up in something that very vaguely resemble gang signs and rolls back over.  Of course, though, he thinks even Percy in this state smells better than just about anything out there.  Like ocean breezes.  In this case, ocean breezes wafting over sweaty sunbathers.

            Percy grins and kisses his temple. “You’re smelling pretty ripe yourself, you know.”

            “I always smell ripe.”

            “Nuh.”

            “Yuh.”

            Nico likes this.  He likes the easy back and forth.  He likes the smiles they’ve shared, the soft touches, the overall kindness.  He likes it all so much.  He can almost pretend he’s not dying with all of it going on, but his returning symptoms always drag him back to reality.  He touches Percy’s face and wishes he could feel the warmth of him in his fingertips.  Wishes he didn’t have to shove his whole palm against his cheek in order to get any feeling at all.  It’s all just a reminder.  He hates the reminders, but he loves what brings them on.  It’s bittersweet.

            Nico makes sure nobody else in the cabin’s looking before sneaking Percy a kiss.  He tucks his head against his shoulder and says, in the softest voice he has, “I love you a lot, you know.”

            Percy grins. “Were you reminded of that because I was critical of your B.O.?”

            Nico pushes at his chest. “ _No_.  I was reminded of it because you’re incredible and you smell like the beach and because you make me feel at home and a lot of sentimental shit I’m not gonna go into.”

            Percy smiles a little and rests a hand on his flank. “No, tell me.  Please?”

            Nico rolls his eyes. “Later.  I swear.”

            Percy grins lazily. “I’m holding you to that.”

            “I _know_ , you’re insufferable like that.”

            Percy snickers a little and gives him a kiss.  Nico gets close enough to cut almost all negative space out from between them.

            And then it hits Percy.  It hits him that he’s sick and he knows why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *does an awesome skateboard trick*


	42. Hypochondria Probably But Probably Not Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nico and Percy both sniffle a little. Percy is completely convinced they are dying. Annabeth's a little put off with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter was so long like I don't think you guys understand that bitch was literally 9 pages long like what the HECK since when can I write 9 pages in one day what is HAPPENING 
> 
> ANYWAYS  
> how are you guys like are you doing okay

            The girl sits upright, staring blankly at the wall across from her.  A technician takes a seat in front of her. “How are you feeling?” he asks, putting on his polite doctor voice, his face impassive.

            “Alive,” she croaks, her eyes hooded. “Un-unfortunately alive.”

            “How are your symptoms?”

            She grimaces at her hands, fighting tears of irritation and helplessness. “B-better.”

            “Feeling back in your extremities?”

            “Yes.”

            “Cravings gone?”

            She watches the ground, her fists clenched. “M-mostly, yes.”

            “Mostly or yes?”

            “Mostly.”

            The technician sits back a little. “No more hallucinations?”

            “N-no more.” 

“And, just to recap, now that you’re lucid and all,” the man says, laughing softly, “on the first day after the shot you felt…?”

“Shitty.”

“Define ‘shitty’, please.”

            She curses softly and says, “Dizzy, confused, feverish.  _Shitty_.”

            “Second day?”

            “A little less shitty, dizzy and confused.”

            “Third?”

            “Fine.  Numb and exhausted.”

            “Forth?”

            “Tired.  A little sick.  My arms were numb again.”

            “Fifth?”

            “Nauseous, sick and number.”

            “Sixth?”

            “…Hungry.”

            “Seventh?”

            She thinks hard.  The seventh day was the day all symptoms of the plague hit her again. “Like a plague victim.  Can I go now?”

            He smiles. “Not quite yet.  We’ve got some more work to do on you.”

           

            Nico yawns awake in the late morning.  His arm is behind his head, but he can’t feel it.  So he does the only natural thing: panics.  His first instinct is to reach for Percy.  As he goes to, he realizes with a little twist of sadness that, even if he were to touch Percy, he wouldn’t be able to feel him.  He turns over onto his side to find that he was alone in the bed. 

            He frowns.  Maybe he’d been too forward with Percy the day before.  Maybe he’d upset him somehow.  He tells himself not to do that.  He wants Percy to remember him fondly, not as that jackass he had to pretend to like until he was gone.  He wants to be remembered as a good time in his life.  As something he cherished.  Or, at least, something that was sad to see go.

            Nico sighs.  He rubs his eyes, notes he can only feel the pressure on his hands and little else, and rolls over.  He’s cold because, well, he’s running a fever.  Plus, there’s no blanket and, given his main source of warmth for the past few days has been coming from Percy, there’s really nothing for him to swaddle himself in aside from his own, mostly-numb arms. 

            He could go look for Percy, but he figures that wouldn’t be a great idea for a few reasons.  One being that he’s sorta known around here as That Sick Kid Percy Screwed.  He isn’t sure by how many of the camp inhabitants think that, but he can tell it’s enough to make him uncomfortable to be alone for too long.  And, two, if Percy just up and left like that, he probably had a reason for it.  Nico likes to think that Percy would remain near him if he overslept or, at least, try to wake him so he could get up and go without just, well, getting up and going. 

            Honestly, if Percy _is_ trying to distance himself from him, Nico understands.  He can’t be mad at him for that.  After all, he is _dying_.  He’s not going to be around too much longer.  Why should Percy stay close by?  Why should he worry over him?  He’s a lost cause.  Percy probably gets the heebie-jeebies from being around him too long.  A lot of people do, always have.  He can’t really blame them.  Especially not Percy, though.  He knows what Nico’s going to become—if he’s kept alive to the point when he can become it.  Who would want to be around somebody who was just a cannibal-in-waiting? 

            No, Nico can’t blame him for preemptively abandoning ship.  He should’ve seen it coming, though.  Yesterday was too good to be true.  He felt like they were getting along too well to be legitimate.  Like it was all just a ruse.  Just a way to lure him into happiness before Percy or one of his peers decided enough was enough and blew his head off.

            He shivers and hugs his knees.  He doesn’t want his head blown off.  He very much likes it where it is.  He hopes, though, that when the time comes that his head will be off, that Percy won’t be there to see it.  He doesn’t want Percy’s last memory of him to be of him in…in such a mess.

            He thinks all of this before he finds the note Percy left in his aforementioned numb hand.

            _Hey Neeks!_

_Sorry about not being here right now.  I had to talk to Annabeth about something (I swear it was important or else I wouldn’t have left, sorry again), and I didn’t want to wake you.  It’s probably illegal to wake a sleeping di Angelo, ‘cos you’re really, cute._

_Anywho, sorry, if I’m not like charging in by the time you read this, I’m probably still in the Common Area (Mom’ll take you there if you don’t know where to go)._

_Anyways, I gotta run, hope you slept well, love you!_

_Persassy Jackass_

            Nico’s first thought is “what an atrocious use of commas”.  After that, all he can do is stare at the word “love” and vibrate happily.

            But he doesn’t let himself vibrate _too_ happily.  After all, it’s easy to write something.  It doesn’t have to mean anything.  There’s no voice in writing.  There’s no affection in it, no matter what words you choose or how you format them.  In writing, you can lie all you want.  It’s up to the reader to believe it or not.  And he’s just not sure he does.  He doesn’t see how Percy could love him.  There’s little spectacular about him and, as far as he’s concerned, it would take somebody really spectacular to deserve Percy’s love.

            Nonetheless, he sits up, his vision tilting for a moment (whether that’s a side effect of the cure or the disease, he’s not sure) and, after a brief pause for the world to settle back into its assigned seat, pulls on his boots.  He stands with the assistance of the bunk and ties his hair back in its stubby ponytail (or at least he thinks he does, as he can’t really feel the bow or the hair and such) and tries to rub some feeling into his arms.  He gets very, very little result.  Just some vague awareness of touch, nothing much else.  He’s terrified.  He doesn’t want his nerves to die.  Not so quickly.

            He takes a deep breath and hugs his stomach. “Mrs. Jackson?  Could y-you show me to the Common Area, p-please?”

           

            Annabeth sighs. “What’s all this about, Percy?”

            Percy paces in front of her.  It took him a while to gather the courage to come to her over this and, now that he’s here, he’s thinking he should’ve gathered for a while longer.  He’s not sure how to break the news to her.

            He closes his eyes and releases a sigh. “Annabeth, I-I’m sick.”

            She rolls her eyes. “Just because your… _boyfriend_ is sick doesn’t mean you are, Percy.  It’s psychosomatic.”

            Percy shakes his head. “But I know I am.  I know it.”

            “Most people who’re paranoid and experiencing psychosomatic thoughts _know_ they’re sick too.  Then they aren’t and it’s all okay,” Annabeth says, watching the ground.  She really wants to believe herself, but she’s finding it difficult.  She can see the pale quality to his skin.  The slackness of his jaw.  She can see it all, but she chooses to ignore it.  He can’t be sick.

            He groans. “Just hear me out.” With a little difficulty, he explains to her the information about the disease given to him and Nico by the Hunters.

            Annabeth eats up the information, furrowing her brow a little and seeming to mentally take notes.  But when he’s done, she’s still a little lost. “What’s your point?”

            Percy looks up at her, meeting her eyes.  He bites his lip a little. “When I…I kissed him, the other day, he, uh…he had blood on his mouth.  His blood, clearly, it was…uh, right after he bit his finger, I…” Percy sighs shakily. “I haven’t been feeling quite right since then, I…I’m just…”

            Annabeth shakes her head a little.  She’s a little peeved at the whole mention of kissing Nico and all that, but she lets it slide again.  She’s too worried about Percy to be mad at him. “You can’t…no, Percy, I don’t think…”

            Percy offers this sad, lopsided smile that just shatters her defenses. “Yeah, you do, A-Annabeth.  You can tell.”

            She watches the ground. “We…we aren’t sure yet, though, right?  Why don’t we give it a few days?” She’s already working out a way to get Percy to that institution.  She knows it’s illogical, but love makes you do stupid stuff.  Like thinking about charging an armed institution crawling with big guys in riot gear and dozens of infected persons.

            Percy bites his lip. “Annabeth, you and I both know I might not have a couple days t-to spare.”

            She scrubs her face with her hands and nods a little. “I…yeah.  I know.  I know.”

            “I’m sorry,” he says, keeping eye contact. “I-I’m so sorry, Annabeth.”

            Nico, who by this point has been dropped off by Sally, has taken a seat a few feet to the side of them, quiet as a mouse.  He was originally going to make himself known instantly, but he decided to let them finish talking first.  He regrets that now.  He overheard too much.  He stands, stumbling over, and looks up at Percy with heartbreak and conviction painting his face.  His eyes are glassy. “I-I…” He takes in a sharp breath. “I got y-you sick?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look at all this subpar garbage wow 
> 
> just as clarification, nico is on day 4
> 
> ALSO  
> To all of you like still in school and stuff and maybe facing finals, good luck and take heart, for summer approaches!


	43. Nico's Powers of Persuasion (Glaring a Lot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nico glares at Annabeth a lot. Annabeth's like wtf. Percy's like oh dang but not so oh dang that he's going to stop any of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've been thinking about what should come after this story. I think I've decided on a sweet little Percico story that takes place in New Orleans but with murder??? Or maybe some dystopian thing that's really dictatorial and oppressive and angry and whatnot. Because, you know, I cannot allow my readers to be TOO happy. It's against the law. 
> 
> ALSO  
> I've been thinking more about the finale for this. It's probably going to take me two days to whip it up because I'm going to be trying to post the alternate and legitimate ending in one sitting so like I need time to make that happen you feel me

            Annabeth starts to say something.  Nico doesn’t hear whatever it is.  He just gazes up at Percy, his mouth hanging partially open. “D-did I…?”

            Percy offers a weak smile and ruffles his hair a little, resting his hand on the back of his neck. “Not…not _really_.  I got myself sick.  I just…got myself sick from your germs.”

            Nico feels like somebody’s just scooped all the contents of his chest out and done a half-assed job of sewing him back up.  He feels like he’s become the embodiment of white noise.  Like the numbness of his arms has spread throughout his entire body.  He feels weightless, but in the bad way.  He feels like an empty balloon.

            He grabs Percy’s shirtfront, his hands trembling, and tries to keep himself from collapsing.  He feels horrible.  Like, he knows he should be more worried about Percy than he is angry at himself, and he really is, but the very thought that Percy was going to die because of him was enough to steal the solidity from his bones, the taut from his muscles, the remaining feeling from his nerves.

            He doesn’t really do a good job at the whole “not collapsing” thing.  He slouches against Percy, clinging to him, and spouts off rapid-fire “I’m sorry”s, his voice hitching.

            Percy shares a glance with Annabeth before pulling Nico’s head to his chest and dropping into semi-confused coos. “It’s not your fault it’s okay please don’t be upset Nico it’s okay Nico c’mon please don’t cry Nico please c’mon.”

            Nico just was not listening to any of what he had to say.  He manages to not cry (too much, at least) and pulls away after a moment, wiping his face with the tail of his shirt.  He forces himself to stand up straight, to bury his emotions.  He looks at Annabeth and says sharply, “I’d like to talk t-to you alone, please.”

            Percy frowns. “Neeks, I—”

            Nico holds up a finger.  He watches Annabeth with a cold look that, honestly, she’s done nothing to deserve.  He gestures to the side and says, “A-away from him, if we could.”

            Annabeth gives Percy an apologetic look and complies, walking a bit to the side with Nico limping after her.  She stops prematurely and, brusquely, Nico grabs her arm and tugs her further along.  He stops when he’s sure Percy’s out of earshot and turns to her, making sure her back is to Percy.

            “We need t-to get him to that institute.”

            Annabeth gazes over her shoulder for a moment at Percy, who’s milling about, looking sad and confused, and nods a little. “I know.  I know we do.”

            Nico feels a little trill of anger.  So they couldn’t do anything when _he’s_ sick, but when Percy gets sick, well golly gee, call in the big guns and get him to safety!  But Nico understands.  He suppresses a burst of anger because, honestly, he gets it.  It’s different when you love somebody.  He’s sure Annabeth’s feeling the same zealous passion to get going that he is.  He can’t fault her in caring more about Percy than she does about him.

            Nico glances back at the fence. “The Hunters left the truck.  We can take that.  We’ll be safe unless a horde d-decides to topple it, which they probably won’t.  I can t-talk any normal zombies away from the gate when we leave.  Percy c-can shoot the Ragers.  We’ll be out o-of here and to the institute before h-he can even cough.”

            Annabeth bites her lip. “I…”

            Nico’s glaring at her so poisonously it’s amazing the grass around him hasn’t withered. “ _You’ll help_.”

            Annabeth closes her eyes. “I...” She speaks with true reluctance. “I-I have to tie up some loose ends here first.  We…we’ll leave as soon as possible.”

            Nico pushes by her. “That b-better be soon.” His worry is turning to mean.  He can’t help it.  He _needs_ Percy to be okay.  And, frankly, if Annabeth holds them up, Nico’s not adverse to just loading up in that armored car and plowing out of there. 

            But no.  No, they need somebody on the outside in order to make this work.  Somebody smart like Annabeth, who can assess a structure by its architectural built and probably think up a basic floor plan.  Somebody who can get Percy out of there quickly.  And, of course, somebody who actually cares enough about Percy to risk their lives for him.

            Nico would do it alone, but his strength is failing.  The most he can hope to do is ward off any hungry creatures from ripping their throats out as they travel.  Which, admittedly, is a lot, but it’s not as much as he’d like to do.

            Nico goes back to Percy, noticing Annabeth was jogging off to take care of whatever loose ends she needed to before they could leave.  He doesn’t glance her way again.  He just goes back to Percy, tucks his head under his chin and begins apologizing again.

            Percy laughs a little. “Neeks, it’s really not your fault.  I kissed _you_ , after all.  I totally forgot about the whole blood thing.  No need to get all worked up.” Percy shrugs a little.  Of course, he’s like, freaking out on the inside, but it’s really best if Nico doesn’t see that.  So he just paints on a happy, carefree face and starts inwardly worrying about his countdown clock.

            Nico shakes his head a little. “There’s d-definitely need to get worked u-up, Percy.  _Definitely_.”

            Percy rolls his eyes. “You’re so fretful.”

            “Well _yeah_.  Y-you’re _dying_ because of _me_.” Nico squeezes his eyes shut. “B-but it’s okay.  It’s okay.  You’re gonna make it.  You’re gonna make it just fine.”

            Percy raises a brow and gently nudges Nico away so he can look him in the eye. “What d’you mean?”

            Nico is a master at avoiding eye contact.  He gazes at his feet. “You know damn well.”

            Percy bites his lip. “Nico, you—”

            “No ‘Nico You’s.” Nico shakes his head. “I’m gonna get you help if it’s the last thing I do, Percy.”

            “But—”

            Nico shoves at his face a little. “Jackson, I swear.”

            “You—”

            “Let me do this for you.” Nico’s voice has taken on a sort of imploring cajole.  He nuzzles Percy’s jaw with the top of his head. “Let me do this and more for you.  Please, Percy…”

            And, well, really, who could resist that?

 

            They set out late the next night, immediately after supplies are gathered and they’re granted permission to leave.  Annabeth drives, with Nico yelling out of one of the slots in the back doors and Percy shooting out of the other.  They safely clear the mini-horde at the gate in no time and, just like that, they’re on their way to the institute.

            Percy slouches against the wall in the back of the car.  He’s not sure he’s ever been quite so tired.  It’s like there’s parasite somewhere in him that’s sucking up all of his energy.  He groans and lays his head back. 

            Nico frowns.  Percy’s getting bad quickly.  He’s sweating so hard his shirt is already drenched.  Nico doesn’t like that.  He doesn’t like that the sun’s kisses have already bled out of Percy’s skin.  He doesn’t like that he’s shivering so much, as if the sun’s kisses stole the warmth from his skin as well as the color. 

            Nico crawls over to him and opens his arms a little.  Percy smiles feebly, scooting over to him.  He lets Nico hold him against his chest, though Nico’s much smaller size makes it difficult.  He’s really more of a throw pillow with arms, but he’s okay with that.  Just as long as he’s able to hold onto Percy.  To feel the faint pressure of his body against his arms.

            Nico closes his eyes and tries to sort his thoughts.

            Percy lost his appetite earlier that evening.  The cough had started that morning.  Nico knows he’s on his third day.  Soon he’ll start drooping even more, from hunger and thirst and delusion.  Nico squeezes his eyes shut.  He doesn’t want to think about that.

            Nico digs around in the bag beside him, having to look to ensure he grabs a bottle of water because, like, dead fingers, and opens it up.  He hands it to Percy, giving his sweaty hair a kiss.  Nico himself isn’t feeling too great today.  Before they left, he’d puked up what little was in him into a bush.  He’s hoping now, actually, that the rocking of the car doesn’t cause him to puke all over Percy.  Because that would just be embarrassing.  His first go-round trying to comfort somebody and, bam, he just goes and vomits on them.  He does not want that as his rep.

            So he swallows down the bile rising in his throat as Percy drinks the water, taking only tiny sips at a time, his eyes glazed over.  Nico kisses his hair again and murmurs to him, “Are you still holding me to it?”

            “Hm?” Percy mumbles, glancing up at him as much as he can without actually moving his head.

            “T-telling you all the sentimental shit.  A-are you still holding me to that?”

            Percy smiles a little and nods.  He takes another sip of water.

            Nico puts his chin on his head and says, “Good.  Here g-goes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter's either going to be sappy as hell or it's going to make you scream because I'm horrible. Who knows which (probably both)


	44. Nico Spills the Sentimental Beans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is basically just sad boys and lame jokes. Sounds familiar, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fit some semi-romantic Greek mythology mentions in here. I'm really happy with all of them they're all crap :D
> 
> Also  
> The end is nigh, my friends, the end is nigh! The end's gonna be pretty much something. 
> 
> I'm really excited to keep working with these two characters tho cos like gosh could they be cuter

            Nico closes his eyes and rubs Percy’s chest as he coughs.  He croons against his ear, waiting patiently for his fit to clear up before he tries to speak to him.  Nico’s head is spinning.  He feels like he’s been tied to a merry-go-round that’s moving so fast it’s breaking the sound barrier.  He steadies himself against Percy, who really isn’t too steady right now either, and tries to ignore the rocking of the car.  His stomach has migrated into his throat.  He’s almost sure he’s about to add some texture to Percy’s shirt. 

            Percy murmurs something as he calms down, his head lulling against Nico’s shoulder.  He’s shaking.  He’s shaking so badly.

            Nico squeezes his eyes shut tighter and holds Percy’s head, drawing in a sharp breath.  As soon as he feels he can open his mouth again without a geyser of bile leaving him, he says, “Wh-what’d you say, Percy?”

            Percy nuzzles under his chin. “I-I said you’re n-not getting out of th-th-this just ‘c-cos I’m coughing.” He manages a smile. “T-tell me a-all your c-corny sentiments, _my s-sweet_.”

            Flushing, Nico bops the back of his head gently and mutters a “jerk” with no real spite behind it.  Percy smiles a bit more and tucks his head against Nico’s neck.  Free of sarcasm, he says, “P-please, Neeks?”

            Nico glances at the ceiling and blinks hard.  He _really_ doesn’t want to go into this.  Not like this.  Little love proclamations like his don’t belong in places like this.  They don’t belong in nights like this, to be shared in the jolty back of a moving car, to be shared with the feelings of anxiety and terror pulsing through both their veins.  They don’t deserve to be shared like goodbyes.

            They deserve to be shared under downy sheets, over warm pillowcases and into the crooks of one another’s necks.  They deserve to be shared over a homecooked meal spiced with solely romantic sentiment and good intentions.  They deserve to be whispered against a smiling cheek, to be shared with all the time in the world and the promise that that time would be spent between the sharers.

            Not like this.

            But Nico’s caught.  He has no choice but to plow on now.  Percy’s waiting with eager ears.  He needs to deliver.

            Nico sighs softly.  He tries to start a normal train of thought, one that will flow easily and that he can get lost in it, so lost that he won’t feel self-conscious.  But every thought takes on its own course.  His thoughts jumble, slam into each other like runaway semis and Civics, cause his temples to ache.  He grits through the pain.  He needs to tell Percy.

            “I…I don’t…I-I wish I d-didn’t have to tell you here…it’s very…”

            “D-dismal?” Percy supplies.

            Nico nods a little. “Exactly.  D-dismal.” He sighs out of his nose and swallows down a retch.  Percy nuzzles his throat a little which, as sweet as that is, does little to help the whole nausea thing.  He wishes he could cool down.  But cooling down would mean being away from Percy, and Percy needs to warm up.  So he stays put.

            “I-if I had…h-had to have told you all this, wh-which I shouldn’t h-have to, y-you _prick_ , I-I would’ve liked it to be s-someplace more…I-I dunno, comfortable?”

            Percy’s overly warm forehead rests against his shoulder. “I-I’m plenty comfortable,” he assures him.

            Nico smiles wanly. “Y-you know what I mean.” With a shaky breath, he begins. “A-anyway, I…I guess…I-I love you f-for a lot of reasons.” His semis and Civics are slowly untangling themselves and forming a somewhat orderly caravan. “I-I guess, I-I’ll start with the sh-shallow stuff, b-because I’m sick a-and I’m allowed to be shallow f-for a little bit.”

            Percy chuckles a little.

            “P-Percy, you’re…you’re r-really attractive.  N-not going to l-lie to you, y-you’re really, really hot.  Y-your face would m-make Narcissus f-forget a-about himself.  A-Aphrodite isn’t b-beautiful enough to deserve you.  Artemis w-would question her maidenhood f-for you.  Y-your ass is o-on par with Adonis’s.  C-congrats on that, b-by the way.”

            Percy laughs softly. “Y-you’re such a-a dork.”

            Nico smiles and closes his eyes. “A-and y-you’re better with words than Apollo.”

            Percy groans playfully.  He’s glad Nico taught him all about these gods/goddesses back in the hotel.  He’d hate to be lost right now.

            Nico takes in a deep breath. “H-hotness aside, Percy, y-you’ve got the best h-heart of anybody I-I know.  Err, kn-knew?  Y-you’ve been up th-there since you s-saved my ass when I-I was a freshmen.” He grins a little nostalgically.

            “I-I’m n-not really a big b-believer in love at first s-sight, Percy, b-but y-you might’ve changed my mind o-on that subject.  I-I know, th-that sounds corny as hell and y-you’re p-probably rolling your eyes r-right now, but it’s _true_.

            “Q-quit snickering, y-you jerk.  M-my lovey-dovey t-teenage heart c-can’t handle it.

            “A-anyways.

            “Y-you’re the b-best person I know, h-have known, maybe even.  Y-you’ve…you’ve saved m-my sorry butt m-more times than I c-can count.  Wh-which is a little j-jerky of you, honestly, l-like let _me_ save _you_ occasionally.”

            “Y-you have,” Percy mumbles.

            “W-well, not _enough_.” Nico kisses the nape of his neck.  His skin’s burning hot under his lips.  Nico snuffles. “A-an’ then I h-had to go and g-get you sick.  Y-you save my l-life, I t-take yours.  G-great, right?” He chokes. “G-God, P-Percy, I-I feel like I’m d-delivering y-your eulogy!” He shakes his head. “L-like a murderer a-at his v-victim’s funeral…” He wipes at his face. “I-I’m so sor—”

            Percy lifts his head a little and kisses Nico’s cheek. “N-Neeks, this is my own f-fault, a-and no amount of s-self-blame i-is going to change that.” He kisses his forehead, a shaking hand resting gently on the back of his neck, and looks Nico in the eye. “P-please don’t b-blame yourself for th-this.”

            Nico closes his eyes and chokes on a sob. “I-I can’t n-not, Percy, I-I—”

            Percy lays his head back down after a moment, focusing on not coughing.  He lets Nico talk, listening to him downing on himself, cursing himself.  He watches as Nico claws at his arms in vain, bleeding but not feeling, his voice a strangled cry in his throat.  He watches as Nico unravels, inconsolable, his mental fortitude slipping partially from the failing vaccine, partially from exhaustion and partially from just flat-out dislike for himself.  He raves until Percy can’t stand to watch anymore.

            With the grace of a seal out of water, Percy flops onto Nico’s legs, wraps his arms around his waist and mutters against his stomach, “I-I love you t-too, you know.”

            Nico blinks.  His cheeks are streaked with tears, his heart is pumping sporadically and working to free itself of his ribs and he _still can’t feel his frickin’ hands_ but he’s not even thinking about any of that right now.  He’s thinking about what Percy just said.  He’s feeling like he’s being drowned, but in a good way.  Like his lungs are filling up with something better than air.  Like air was just some cheap substitute for what he could’ve been breathing.  Despite the deadness in his fingertips, he swears he can feel them tingling.  He looks down at Percy, his mouth open a little, and intelligently stammers, “Wh-what?”

            Percy nuzzles his belly a little, too exhausted to sit up and look Nico properly in the eye. “I-I _said_ , I l-love you, too.”

            Nico blinks hard. “E-even though I got y-you sick?”

            “Neeks.”

            “B-but…”

            “ _Neeks_.”

            Nico sniffles a little.  He helps Percy up so he’s looking him in the face and says, “A-are you sure?”

            Percy smiles a little.  He gives him a sweet kiss, a shaking hand steadying himself on Nico’s shoulderblade. “I-I’m sure, Nico.”

            Nico feels like such a wimp for crying again, but Percy doesn’t mind.  He even cries a little, though Nico’s not sure over what.  They lean back against the wall, chests pressed together, legs entangled, and do a half-assed job of comforting each other until Annabeth pulls to a stop.

            She steps out, covering herself flawlessly, and opens up the back to find the boys blubbering in unison, both of them trying to hide in the other’s hair, clinging to each other and shaking like they were both constructed of their own personal earthquakes.  She clears her throat after a minute, sort of feeling bad for breaking up the tenderness and, frankly, patheticness of the moment, and says, “C’mon, guys…we’re here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should 10/10 write pickup lines for sure that'd get me all the boys amiright


	45. Percy and Nico's Thoughts on Dying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys contemplate some

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just got back from the TFiOS premiere and I'm in the mood to break some hearts. <3 (Not that I really did a good job of it here, but that's okay)
> 
> I know exactly what I'm doing for the ending. Probably.   
> You will not like it.   
> I will love it.   
> It's gonna be //great//.

            Gentleness is something unknown to those within the walls of the Institute.  Bedside manner is a laughable concept.  Brutality, clinical measure and strong-handedness take their places.  Those who go in rarely leave intact, and not due to the Plague.  No, human cruelty sometimes outweighs the cold-heartedness of the patients’ collective illness.  Humanity can outdo itself sometimes.  Sometimes it overcomes all natural ailments, or, hell, ailments created by itself.  It casts them aside as though they were nothing to be trifled with and proudly proclaims, “No!  You’re nothing to me.  You want to see suffering, _I_ will show you suffering.”

            This is how things function in Bengele’s domain.

            Percy and Nico had stumbled the rest of the way to the Institute.  The caged Mor-6ers and Slow Movers raised up a groan so boisterous and starved that it wrenched at the boys’ hearts in a way unexplainable to those who have not suffered loss at the hands of the disease. 

            Percy had squeezed Nico’s hand.  He was leaning on him in order to keep upright.  Nico was breathing heavily, his head tucked against Percy’s shoulder.  The reassuring pressure on his hand, vague as it was, sent a little jolt of unwelcome hope through him.  His heart beat a little faster.  They were going to make it.  Right?  They had to.  They loved each other.  Loving somebody means you two are both automatically impossible to tear down.  It means you’ve essentially been wrapped in a blanket of protection.  You are untouchable because you share a bond with somebody else.  That bond, solidified by the Three Little Words everyone wants to hear, should become inseparable.  Anyone holding a grudge against you should let all upset diminish.  They should see the almost tangible bond between you and your sharer of the Three Little Words, and recognize that, of course, they can’t touch you now.  Tragedy never befalls lovers.

            The groaning grows louder.  Nico wondered, absently, how many of those reanimated corpses were lovers at the times of their premature demises.  He wondered how many of them had softly whispered the Three Little Words against the shells of ears, the valleys of throats, the smiling lips of their Metaphorical Other Halves.  He wondered how many of them had died trying to save their Metaphorical Other Halves.  He wondered if he would go out trying to help his, or if he would go on Halfless, or if Percy would go on Halfless until he reunited with Annabeth.

            He hoped Percy would make it back out to her.  He didn’t want Percy’s happiness to falter, to stumble, to even _misstep_ , because of him.  He didn’t—doesn’t—want Percy’s lips to stop smiling, to stop kissing, to stop anything-ing because of him.  As much as he would love to be remembered, he doesn’t want to eclipse Percy’s life.  He wants to be a blip on Percy’s radar, remembered with fondness but not with all-encompassing admiration.  He wants to be remembered as Percy remembers a fling.  It was fun, it was lovely, it was short.  It was not something to be mourned.  It was just fun.

            Of course, it’s not just a fling for him.  It’s everything he could have romantically hoped for, sans the lingering threat of zombies and the persistence of the fever they carried, and somehow more because somebody said the Three Little Words to _him_.  And it wasn’t forced, and it wasn’t said accompanied by a thinly-veiled annoyance.  It wasn’t even prompted with the traditional beginning of the Three Little Words ceremony.  Nico played no role in Percy’s actual confession.  He didn’t ask for him to say anything.  He just… _did_.  He did to comfort Nico.  To assure him that, no matter how bad he got, he would be right there.  He would love him to death and, literally, back again.

            The groaning persisted.  Percy became aware of the virus running through his veins.  He became aware of the heat of his fever.  The nape of his neck became a particular area of subconscious interest.  He wanted to rub at it, as if that would somehow expel all of the life-destroying disease out of his being.  He felt itchy all over.  He was a vessel for a disease that was just waiting to hijack him.  He was helpless against his own body.

            The groaning suddenly seemed like a sort of glance into the future.  _He_ would be one of those soon.  _He_ would be dead and gone. 

            He clung to Nico.  He wasn’t any healthier than Percy, of course, but he was an anchor to this world.  He was something to stay alive for.  He was a vessel as well.  No, not a vessel.  No, neither of them were vessels, exactly.  Claiming to be vessels steals ones humanity.  They didn’t need anything else doing that.

            No, they were just individuals wearing rapidly-draining hourglasses.  And when those hourglasses had filled up one half, their bodies would be offered up to something more powerful than themselves.  The thing that forced them to die would force them to live again.  Without control, without continuous thought, without morality.  They would live, but they wouldn’t really.

            They wouldn’t enjoy anything.

            They wouldn’t smile.

            They wouldn’t hurt.

            They wouldn’t love.

            They wouldn’t even be capableof _thinking_ about love.

            Just about moving forward.  About what they heard.  About making other life like their lives.  Empty, meaningless, parasitic.

            Percy didn’t want to be a parasite.

            He squeezed Nico’s hand so hard even Nico felt it a little.  He squeezed back.

            That all took place just seconds before the guards come crashing out.  They see the two of them, aim their weapons and fall upon them with unbelievable force.

            A rope is forced into Percy’s mouth when he opens it to protest.  His hands are wrenched free of Nico, of the warmth he had fixed himself to, and are juggled between guards.  A light is shined in his eyes.  He’s pulled, Nico in tow, through the reinforced doors of the Institution.

            It takes a moment for Percy’s eyes to adjust to the dull light of the Institute.  Yellowed fluorescents fritz above them.  The walls crawl with gnats and graffiti.

            As soon as he can see again, he notices Nico’s mouth is full of rope as well.  Nico’s staring at him with these big eyes that look like they’re about to drown.  His face is slack and scared.  Snot’s bubbled out of his nose.  Tears are beginning their trek toward his chin.

            That’s when Percy realizes something that Hollywood had glossed over in his mind.  He had always pictured sadness, fear, as something fragile and delicate and beautiful.  Ever since he saw any movie containing any of those topics, he pictured it like that. 

            But that isn’t the truth. 

            The truth of sadness, of fear, of hopelessness, is blunt and ugly.  It’s the way Nico’s skin colors beneath the too-tight rope muzzle.  It’s the way his eyes have reddened and have become glossy.  It’s that he can’t even reach up to wipe his nose.  It’s that his face is wrinkled up in a sob.  It’s that he’s straining and he’s helpless.  It’s that he’s struggling, he’s scared.  His current constitution is fragile, but the reality of fear is not.  The reality of fear is as overcoming as thick fog. 

            There is no beauty in fear.

            Percy twists his hand free and reaches to Nico, taking his wrist firmly and looking him in the eye urgently.  He can’t speak.  The rope is biting into the sides of his mouth hard enough to cut off circulation.  Bruising is a guarantee.  The frays are scraping against his tongue.  He’s having a hard time breathing.  There’s a cough brewing in his chest.

            But he ignores all of this.  He just gives Nico a strong look, holding his wrist hard enough for Nico to feel the pressure (but hopefully not the bruise that would certainly sprout from the spot hours later), and releases a strangled grunt as a guard pulls at his arm.

            Nico watches him, his teeth grit around his gag, tears rolling freely now because he’s mad, he’s _so mad_ , because this is all his fault and he can’t even do anything to stop any of it.  He started it, but he can’t finish it.  He can’t give anybody a definite happy ending.  He can only give them a momentary blush of hope, something that could, _maybe_ , become a happy ending.  But assurance is not in the cards.

            And now here’s Percy, wheezing for breath and clinging to him, his face all twisted up in determination, his cheeks red, nostrils flared, eyes full of completely indignant fire.  His muscles are straining.  His hair is falling at wild angles.  His body is full of fight, of rage.

            There is beauty in rage.

            It’s depicted in popular culture as clumsiness, and pointlessness, but rage for the right reasons is beautiful.  Rage fills one up with passion.  Passion is beautiful.

            Percy is beautiful, illuminated in dull lights and fighting against two massive guards, he is beautiful.  And he is angry.

            Nico smiles a little.

            A second passes and Percy’s pulled apart from Nico.  They’re taken to the Washers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in like an hour and a half so sorry for the shortness and probable blips


	46. Really Cute Kinda Cannibals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What an alliterative title wow good job miss author lady *crowd cheers*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY I HAVEN'T UPDATED IN A COUPLE DAYS I HAVEN'T BEEN ABLE TO WRITE WELL (NOT LIKE THIS IS GREAT) //LOUD SCREAMING//
> 
> I realized that I never really gave Bengele a face so here ya go
> 
> The finale will be coming on like Wednesday. I'll know the exact day when I write the chapter that flows into it, I guess. Then there should be a day or so break so I can perfect the ending and such. So woot. But I might just wait until the weekend idk 
> 
> Also. If you haven't listened to The Devil Wears Prada's Zombie EP, I encourage you to. They kick off a song with a freaking chainsaw rattle. It's incredible. Take note, zombie enthusiasts! 
> 
> On a related note, check out this spectacular playlist the lovely Ray shadowmen whipped up: http://8tracks.com/shadowmen/20-songs-to-kill-zombies-to For all your zombie killing needs <3 
> 
> NOW WHO'S PSYCHED TO SEE THE BOYS BEGIN TO EMBRACE THEIR STEADILY GROWING CANNIBALISTIC TENDENCIES?

            Nico curls up on his side.  He watches the wall, his hair soppy and freezing cold.  Percy is slumped beside him, an arm over his chest, his breaths coming in soft wheezes.  Nico watches the wall and idly touches Percy’s knuckles, listening to the wheezing, ignoring the grumble of both upset and hunger in his stomach.  He’s never felt so hungry. 

            Percy stares at the ceiling.  They’re waiting for something, though they aren’t really sure what.  They’re positive, however, that when that Something comes to fruition, they’ll be separated. 

            Percy focuses on breathing.  It feels a little like a baby elephant is sitting on his chest.  He groans softly under the pressure and takes in another noisy breath.

            Nico pats his hand a little. “Y-you okay, Jackson?” He forces himself to look over his shoulder where Percy lies at his back. 

Percy looks away from the ceiling to Nico, his mouth twitching into a weary smile. “I-I’m grand.”

            “Grand,” Nico says slowly, rolling to face him.  Nico pulls his knees up between them and sighs softly, putting his head on Percy’s bicep and nestling close to the dampness of his hair.  He hates being so helpless.  And that’s exactly what he is right now.  He knows it.  He wants to get up, to pace the room, to scream and thrash and break something, because all of this is just so _unfair_ and it’s just not _right_ that they’d be in this situation.  He wishes, he wishes so much, for Before.  Even if Percy didn’t know he existed, even if they never crossed paths for more than a few minutes, he yearns for the safety he took for granted.  For the humanity that he discredited.  Humanity had given way to human nature, and human nature is a rampant bitch.

            Percy nods a little, angling himself so he could be at least mostly facing Nico without taking his arm out from underneath his head.  He nuzzles at Nico with his nose, encouraging him to look at him.  Nico peeks out at him after a little prompting, eyeing him with skepticism. “What?” he asks, working hard to keep an edge out of his voice.  He isn’t mad at Percy.

            Well.  He’s a _little_ mad at Percy.  Because Percy wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t for Percy’s incorrigible habit of doing dumb shit.

            But anyway.

            He isn’t very mad at Percy.  He’s just mad in general.  He’s mad because of the aforementioned reasons.  He’s mad because every time he sits up, his head spins.  He’s mad because his shoulders have begun to go numb.  He’s mad because he’s thrown up like nine times since he got up that morning and that’s just rough on the throat (not to mention on one’s breath; he couldn’t fathom how Percy was managing to be so close to his face right now without choking).

            And, dammit, he’s mad because he’s only hungry when he’s close to Percy.  He’s mad because he’s terrified of what that means.

            Percy rests a hand right at where Nico’s ribs start and absentmindedly runs his hand down to his hip and back, over and over, in a monotonous yet comforting motion that he doesn’t seem to notice.  Nico likes this about Percy.  He doesn’t usually like to be touched—it sets of little spasms of discomfort under his skin, makes him want to retract into himself, to slap away anything drifting into his personal space bubble.  But with Percy, it’s different.  He doesn’t touch to freak Nico out; he touches to calm him down.  He doesn’t know what else to do.  He’s complete shit with words, so he just touches.  It’s, in a weird way, really nice.

Nico relaxes a little and refuses to admit to himself that he’s watching Percy’s arm move because the very sight of the muscles lacing his bicep make his stomach growl.  He thinks he’s drooling.

            Percy can see this weird look on Nico’s face.  Like he was in a trance with his bicep.  That’s admittedly strange enough, to be honest, but it’s more than that.  It’s like…he’s eyeing it like it was a Thanksgiving turkey and he hadn’t eaten since the Fourth of July.  Percy frowns. “Neeks?”

            Nico snaps his gaze away from Percy’s arm and meets his eyes, his own going wide and shiny. “Y-yeah?”

            “Y-you okay?”

            Nico smiles wanly. “G-great.  Perfect.  _Grand_.”

            Percy kisses his forehead, brushing the whole Thanksgiving turkey thing off and trying to rub some feeling into Nico’s upper arm. “G-good.” He smiles a little, as much as he can get himself to under the rather damning circumstances, and brushes some of the wet hair off of Nico’s forehead with his shaking free hand.

            There’s some noise outside of the room.  Doors opening, something yelping, men yelling.  Boots scuffling toward their room.  Somebody grunting something.  The loud growling of a disgruntled patient, probably already undead.

            Listening to it all, Nico feels an urge in the pit of his stomach that he’s okay with.  An urge that’s very not-cannibally.  He tunes the sounds out, grabs Percy’s face and pulls it close to his own, breath be damned because, frankly, Percy’s isn’t too much better.  It smells of blood and general disregard of dental hygiene.  This was expected, however, given they weren’t granted complimentary tooth brushes and rolls of dental floss upon admittance.

            Blood and plaque are better than vomit, Nico guesses, but he doesn’t really care.  He grabs Percy by the hair and unceremoniously kisses him in a way that was really more like a lip-punch than anything else.  Percy makes a little noise of confusion and pulls back enough for Nico to see his arched brow and partially open mouth, the confusion in his eyes.

            God, he’s adorable.

            Nico leans close to him, nipping the lobe of his ear before whispering, “Trust me, P-Perce, you’re g-going to want some n-nice memory to hold onto i-in here.  S-so kiss me before th-they come get us, y-you jackass.”

            Percy is not the kind of jackass to deny a cute boy a kiss.

            It’s really amazing to him how much he lets Nico guide him.  As soon as their lips reconnect, Nico has Percy over him, between his legs and decorating the uninjured side of his throat with hickeys and harmless bite marks.  Nico just sorta knew how to do stuff to him.  Sick or not, that boy had a sort of control over him he just couldn’t explain.

            Percy grins against his skin when he hears a soft groan rumble in the back of Nico’s throat.  Percy lets his hand wander underneath the hem of Nico’s smock. “T-talk dirty to me,” he murmurs.  Nico’s hand is lost somewhere in the folds of his smock.

            “G-get j-jazzy on it.”

            “ _Y-you know what I-I meant, you d-dork_.” Percy’s good with his hands.

            Nico puts his head back a little, releasing a soft grunt.  He presses closer to Percy. “U-uh…” He reverts to Italian so Percy won’t know how bad at dirty talk he is. “Salve, ragazzone.  Toccami.  Di più. Sì, questo è un bene.  Uh, prego ... ti prego prendere il latte sulla strada di casa.  Abbiamo bisogno di ossa più forti.  Oh, oh Dio, sì, però, sul serio, che è grande.  Whoa, sì. Va bene, uh, parole a caldo.  Siamo entrambi andando a morire.  Che non era caldo.  Non si conosce la differenza però.  Lo farai?”

            Apparently, that works for Percy.

            They drown out all the sound outside pretty easily.

            When the guard comes in, Percy’s panting hard, laying against Nico, Nico against the wall.  Nico looks up lazily from his post beneath him and takes a moment to savor the guards’ facial expressions.  He grins a little and tangles a hand lazily in Percy’s hair. “S-sorry, boys, you missed the show.”

            The guards pry them apart.  Nico fixes his smock, comments on how he needs a clean one, and squirms every time one of them touch him.  Percy grins sublimely, not even trying to make his smock presentable and leans hard against one of the guards.

            The two of them are wrestled to the door where, in passing, they manage a brief kiss. “I-I love you,” Nico murmurs.  The man holding his arm tugs him away.

            “L-love y-you too,” Percy shouts back, his guards briskly tugging him down the hall.

            Nico smiles a little.  He looks up at the guard holding him and says, “G-got any smokes?”

 

            Bengele laces her fingers together. “So.  He brought his lover back with him.”

            One of the workers rolls up his flannel’s sleeves.  He fidgets uncomfortably. “It appears so, yes.”

            Bengele paces a little. “This is…a very unique situation,” she says after a moment, her icy gaze falling on the man.  He fidgets more intensely.

            The woman grins.  She likes this.  She likes that she can make this man uncomfortable in his own skin by just looking at him.  She likes that she can snuff out his ambitions with a correctly placed word, a well-timed pause.  She likes this.

            She stands before him and pat his cheek. “Do you know what this means, Caleb?”

            Caleb gulps uncomfortably.  Josephine Bengele is not a woman beautiful by societal standards.  She’s not skeletal thin like many models pacing the catwalk.  She does not try to wear anything that would hang off her strong body in a flattering manner.  She dresses as she would for office work.  Always in crisp whites and blacks, never in anything comfortable.

            She is not a comfortable person.  Not to interact with, not to look at.  She’s angular, subzero beauty embodied, all high-cheek bones and eyes the color of dense ice.  Her strength can out-do any of the men she works with.  One wrong move and she could have Caleb by the throat in a second.  He couldn’t do anything to stop it.

            Her hand is too close to his throat for comfort right now.  He’s suppressing shakes.

            She lets her hand fall to his shoulder where she brushes off imaginary lint. “I think some observation might be in order.  Get the Percy boy heavy suppressants.  We’ll see how di Angelo handles his decline while Percy’s is at standstill.”

            She gives the man another pat on the cheek and pushes him away, beginning to pace again. “In two days, move them into the same room.  Restraints, of course.  Allow, at most, slight contact.  Position a camera in a corner behind di Angelo.” She pauses a moment, a wondering smile coming onto her face. “Do you think,” she says, turning to the man again and arching a perfectly maintained brow, “di Angelo could train him?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DID THIS CHAPTER MAKE ANY SENSE 
> 
> BECAUSE BASICALLY WHAT HAPPENED HERE IS I THOUGHT "I NEED SOMETHING TO DO WITH THIS CHAPTER TO SPEND SOME TIME MIGHT AS WELL WRITE SOME KINDA SMUT" 
> 
> ALSO if you guys wanna see something in particular from me in future fics lemme know pls it helps me with ideas and whatnot 
> 
> If you didn't translate the Italian part, I strongly encourage you to, as I want it to be my legacy 
> 
> I'll let you guys decide what they did in their down time :D


	47. Percy Hallucinates and Nico's Hungry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title really sums this son bitch up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to REALLY happy piano music throughout this whole thing and I just think that's really funny. Like for real listen to this during the first part of the chapter   
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fhAjg-ZOl9s&feature=kp  
> NOW CACKLE WITH ME
> 
> I made a couple of ill-informed Dante's Inferno jokes at the beginning of this. I'm really just not ashamed at all. 
> 
> Gahhhhh the next chapter's gonna be hella fun for me to write you'll all hate it it's gonna be SPLENDID

            Percy wonders what was in the ninth circle of Hell and whether it had crawled up and wheedled its way into the bowels of the CDC 2.0.  He’s still only 50% sure there even was a ninth circle in Dante’s Inferno, but he’d be willing to bet that it had set up shop in here.

            He’s pretty sure he’s never been so cold.  He has no idea whether that’s from the fever wreaking havoc throughout his body or an excellent air conditioning system, but it really doesn’t matter, because he’s cold as _hell_ and he’d really do just about anything for a blanket.  And _anything_ is a big word.

            He trembles and hugs himself again.  The room he’s in is crawling with something.  He can’t even make out for sure what.  Some part of his mind tells him he’s hallucinating, but he’s just not sure.

            Slugs?  He thinks he’s seeing slugs.  They’re decorating the walls like gray-brown little jewels, their little slime trails glistening in the harsh, white light.  The slugs are trickling now.  They’ve transcended solidity.  They’re oozing, like thick strands of caramelized sugar.  Caramelized sugar.  The overpowering smell of sugar fills the air.  Percy lays his head against the wall.  He remembers the vague hope that flashes through his mind that no sugar slugs will mess up his hair.

            The sugar in the air is turning grainy.  It feels like glass to breathe.  Percy coughs hard.  The glass is in his lungs, lining his nostrils.  He can feel it seeping into his bloodstream.  He claws at his skin.

            Is the glass becoming flies or is that just his imagination?  Is this whole thing just his imagination?  Is he just a figment of somebody’s imagination, existing but not really existing, his entire being, his nerves, his muscles, his skin, his bones, are they even real?  Or are they sewn together feebly, made only to exist out of reality?  What if he were to be thrown into reality?  What would happen to him?  Oh, to be released from this horrible state of nonexistence only to completely unwind as soon as his skin touched reality!  What a fate to suffer!

            While Percy trips some existential balls on the Mor-6 virus, Bengele sips at her coffee, watching from behind Plexiglas and musing.  She muses over the two boys newly in her possession, over the potential they could have.  They might help explain the entirety of the brain’s function when faced with romantic matters under the influence of Mor-6.  She’s never before had the luxury of having lovers to observe.  Watching their tragic digression, their steady downward spiral as they adjusted to their new, not-so-alive forms, would be massive for their research. 

            But first, there are other matters to be attended to.  Percy will require suppressants within the hour.  He’s already begun to jolt towards the TV monitor they positioned in the room that broadcasts live-feed of Nico to him.  Percy keeps shouting something, though it’s too muffled to hear for sure, and reaching for Nico, before assuming a blank expression and gazing off into the distance, as if coming back to himself anew.  Realizing that he isn’t quite dead yet, that he’s still in control of his actions.  To some extent, at least.

            He’ll require the suppressants as soon as all but the faintest traces of his self-awareness have been lost in the blur of the virus.  Then they’ll be able to move him.

            For now, however, he’s too busy snapping his teeth at the screen then thinking about his actions to be moved.

            Bengele purses her lips.  As enthralling as this display is (bite the air, think a minute, panic over hallucinations, notice TV, repeat), she feels her time could be better spent elsewhere.  With a soft-spoken word to one of the guards standing with her, she leaves the room and strides down the hall.  Creatures behind locked doors yip at her, claw at her, do everything other than actually burst through the door in attempt to get to her.  She grimaces.  They’re so noisy.

            “Shut up,” she mutters softly, slapping one of the doors as she passes it.  She’s got places to be.  She will not put up with such rude boisterousness, even from the undead.

 

            Nico holds his stomach.  The world is a rowboat in the middle of a stormy sea and he’s trapped on it.  He puts his forehead against his knees and groans.  He’s starving for something he can’t really pinpoint, but just the thought of eating is too dizzying for him right now.  He plants his hands firmly on the ground and closes his eyes tight.  He just needs to focus on which way is up for now.  Food can and will wait.

            He’s on the fifth day since he was administered the first shot.  His shoulders are numb now.  His legs, up to the knee, are completely lost in a gray blur of pins and needles.  He pinches his ankle, but feels nothing beyond the monotonous sensation of tingling, though color rushes to the surface of his skin instantly.

            He sighs internally, feeling his metaphorical lunch lurching up into his throat.  No actual lunch was there, of course.  Even if he’d been hungry for it, Bengele wouldn’t have delivered.  They wanted to monitor his eating habits as he fell back into illness.  They’d make sure he was good and hungry by the time they were ready to observe him.

            The door opens.  He opens his eyes a crack, squinting in the suddenly harsh light at the crisp figure standing before him.  Bengele gives him a brisk nod as she steps in, closing the door behind herself.  She stands out of Nico’s reach, a taunting reminder of the leash around his neck.

            “Mr. di Angelo,” Bengele says, taking her sweet time on each syllable.

            Of course, Nico doesn’t know her name.  So he calls her what he thinks of her. “Bitch in White.” He, too, takes his sweet time on each syllable, watching her with a look of defiance that’s strong even in his weakened state. 

            She laughs and leans in, a few inches out of his reach. “You’re a ray of sunshine today, Mr. di Angelo.”

            He instinctually shoots a hand out and swats at her face.  He’s not sure when that became an instinct.

            She smiles and straightens out. “So that boy of yours.  He’s the Percy you kept on about during your last stay, isn’t he?”

            Nico keeps his eyes locked on her, but refuses to speak.  He doesn’t look away from her.  He hates her.  He hates her so much.  She has Percy and he hates her.  He wants to tear her to pieces.  She’s going to hurt Percy.  He wants to stop that.  He needs to find Percy.

            Percy, Percy, Percy.  The smiling face, the callused hands feeling along his flank, the hoarseness of his chuckle.  The words, sweet and simple, he tickles his ears with.  Nico feels that if he doesn’t get all of that back immediately, he’ll have to just break loose and find it himself.

            A flood of déjà vu washes over him.  He felt like this a little over a week ago.  Before liquid cure was injected into his veins.

            He pushes thoughts of Percy away when he recognizes the nausea leaves whenever he comes to mind.  The nausea leaves and, in its place, a gut-gnawing hunger sets in.

            Bengele’s looking at him like she’s reading his thoughts. “I didn’t see a bite on him, but he’s Plague-positive.  How could that have happened, di Angelo?”

            Nico’s mouth opens a little.  He’s having trouble breathing.  A wheeze whistles over his lips. 

            She smiles. “The Plague is still very much alive in your veins, you know.  Just because you received the first bout doesn’t mean you’ve eradicated the disease.” She rolls her shoulders a little and gently brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “Just weakened it temporarily.  As I’m sure you can tell, it’s coming right back to you now.”

            Nico nods a little.  His mind wanders back to Percy.  The taste of his skin, the taste of his sweat, the taste of his—

            “So how could your boy Percy have gotten your specific strand of the Mor-6 virus without being bitten?” She smiles and taps her lips with a perfectly-manicured finger. “Salivary infection is very improbable.  Not impossible, of course, but very improbable.  That leaves exposure to blood or seminal infection.” She smiles at him. “We both know which it was.”

            Well, now he’s hopelessly gone down the Percy rabbit trail.  His stomach feels like it’s clawing itself apart.

            Nico bites his lip and glares harder at her. “He accidentally ingested some of my b-blood.” Then, as an afterthought, he adds, “F-fix him, and I’ll give you more information on my f-father.”

            Her smooth face wrinkles up in a smile. “Your _father_.  You don’t know anything more about his whereabouts than you did previously.  That’s not a viable bargaining chip anymore.”

            Nico thinks hard even though the world is tilting again. “Then…I’ll t-tell you…” He would tell her whatever he remembered his dad saying about the disease, but he really can’t remember anything.  Just a bunch of medical talk that all ran together messily.  He would try to teach them how to use his gift, but he’s not sure he even wants to do that.  Percy wouldn’t probably approve of it anyways.  He can’t blame him for that.  After all, they’re the bad guys.  Like, the living bad guys.  They’ll use information like that against the living good guys and then they’d all probably become the undead bad guys.

            So he’s got no cards on the table. 

            Then Bengele says what’s on her mind. “Do you think you’d be able to talk some sense into someone about to change?”

            Nico furrows his brow a little.

            “Work that special kind of magic you do oh-so-very-very-well on somebody who’s technically still alive,” she says, her voice thick with condescension.

            Nico takes a long moment to respond. “Wh-what’s in it for me?”

            She muses a moment. “Potential revival for you and your…Percy.”

            Nico’s stomach growls audibly.  Bengele’s mouth twitches into a clinical smile. “Hungry?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *drops a series of not so subtle subtleties and hopes for the best*


	48. Why Restraints Are Necessary Even in Smutless Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys are starved for each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a horrible pun I just made

            Nico lays on his belly, his leash pulled taut, collar biting into his neck.  He watches the floor.  His stomach feels like it’s been taken out and put back in upside down.  His mouth feels stuffy.  More than anything, he wants to just sleep.  Sleep and sleep and sleep.  But he knows what sleep will bring.  So he just opens his eyes and tries, tries so hard, to stay alive.

            Suppressants are suspending him, but once they wear off, he’ll be gone in minutes.  He hopes he can do what Bengele asked.  He clenches his fists and grumbles a prayer to whoever will listen before forcing himself to sit up.  He needs to be ready.  All of the side effects of the regular Plague are seeping back into him.  Hallucinations are coming in brief, lapping waves.  They’d wet his senses, then pull back.  Flash into his vision, then quickly dance away.

            He wishes the hallucinations would just flood him again.  He’s tired of being paranoid.  He’d rather just be scared and out of it.

            He wonders how Percy’s holding up.  Wonders if he’s still as well-built as he was when they went in.  Wonders about the current state of those arms.  The thick cords of muscle lining them.  The intoxicating smell of his skin.  The mystery shrouding the taste of…

            He pushes Percy out of his mind.  No need to be hungry right now.  That’d only make things worse.  He needs to keep a level head.  It’ll be bad enough when he has to see Percy; he doesn’t need to get dazed before that.

            For the sake of them both, he needs to keep a clear mind.  Because he has to…wait…he has to…

            Shit.

 

            Percy grits his teeth.  He really hates shots.  Of course, he hates gradual zombification more, but shots are a close second.  And this one is a doozy.  It’s been a while since Percy’s seen a needle of that size.

            The man injecting him talks in a dull voice as he works. “These’ll stop you from getting too much worse, probably.” His voice drips boredom.  Percy’s having a hard time focusing.  He hasn’t had any water to drink since he got here and, frankly, he doesn’t want any.  His fingers are on the fritz.  They refuse to stay still.  He can feel his feet doing the same.  His head feels like it’s been filled with molten metal. 

            He can only think about Nico and Annabeth.  Both of them nag at him like a word he can’t remember.  He’s trying so hard to get to them, trying so hard for them, but he just _can’t_ get away.  It’s driving him crazy.

            Something’s happening now.  He’s really not sure what.  It’s happening to his ankles.  He’s, like, mostly sure of that.  _Mostly_.

            Ow.  Okay, ow.  Yeah, definitely the ankles. 

            He’s made to stand up.  The guards guide him along, his ankles sending little winces of pain through his body as he shuffles along.  About halfway to their destination, he began to cough violently enough to spew bloody mucus all over the guard at his left.  Percy, exhausted and cast in a fog of fever, smiles dumbly at him as he stares aghast at the hazardous waste now decorating his t-shirt.  Percy leans against the other guard.  He notices, with a little jolt of surprise, that he can smell the man very well.  He can’t see him too well, but he sure can smell him.

            He smells like shaving cream, antiseptic and something else.  Something very primal.  Percy has to assume that, out in the wild, this is what a rabbit smells like to a lynx.

            He loves it.

            Before he can do anything daft like tear the poor man’s throat out, he’s pulled into a room.  His ankles are secured to the wall by a guard waiting inside as the one he walked with attaches a leash around his neck.

            But he’s not even paying attention to that.  The air has a thick smell to it.  He’s picking up on the smell thing more and more.  Being on the fifth day will do that to a guy.

            The air smells like a funeral parlor and cheap soap.  The primal Rabbit smell is there too, though it’s not as strong as it could be.  Percy feels like, if he were a lynx, he’d overlook that rabbit smell.  Too old.  Too far gone.

            He looks up slowly, pushing himself up from off his belly, and focuses hard on whatever’s across the room from him.  The suppressants are clearing his head a little.  He can make out Nico now, sitting neatly against the opposing wall.  He watches Percy with a sort of weariness, his mouth hanging open.

            Nico has never been so hungry.  He’s never figured that another person—especially not Percy—could ever look so delicious.  But here he is, thinking that exact thing.

            All of Percy’s senses are tingling.  They’re telling him to go forward, toward Nico.  Part of his mind insists that Nico is in danger.  The other part insists that he not pass up on such a choice meal.

            The suppressants are working quickly.  By the time Percy has pulled himself upright, he’s thinking rationally.  Nico is clearly okay.  He’s clearly okay.  Something’s around his ankles.  He’s not realty a fan of the ankle thing, but he can deal with it.  He and Nico are okay and they’re together.

            Nico speaks up in a hoarse voice. “C-come, Percy.” He speaks in a way that sends ripples of sweetness over Percy’s ears.  The power of suggestion, when spoken correctly, overrides the fragile, temporary rational thought he’d managed to grab onto.  His weak mental fortitude fell with two words.

            Percy pulls himself forward a little.  He doesn’t tell his body to do it.  He just does.  He doesn’t think about it.

            The pain in his ankles increases.  He glances back slowly and takes almost a half a minute to process the coils of jagged wire wrapped around his feet.  They curl back to the wall where a rusty bolt holds them in place.  Percy frowns.  Moving toward Nico will only hurt him.  He understands that.  So why is he still pulling himself forward?

            Nico watches him.  His face is painted with conflict.  Like he wants to shut up and scream at him at the same time. “C-come, Percy.  Come on.”

            Percy, cotton mouthed, says, “B…but…Neeks…” He nods back to the wire around his ankles.

            Nico glances at them.  Acknowledges them.  Then pushes off the wall and sits forward on his knees, something akin to lust overthrowing him. “P-Percy.  Please.  C-come here, I-I need you.” He adds a pitiful little whimper to the end of “need” and “you”, something he would not do under regular circumstances, and reaches a hand out toward Percy. “C-come on, Jackson.”

            Percy opens his mouth to protest.  He dumbly thinks “well, I better hurry”, and pulls himself forward more.  The wire bites him ruthlessly.  He yelps and keeps crawling.  Nico’s voice is too overwhelming.  Nico’s voice…

            Nico is controlling him.  Just like any ghoul or ghoul-to-be, Nico is playing him like a fiddle.

            And he’s too absorbed by the brown-sugar-sweetness of his voice to even feel betrayed.

            Nico’s breathing oddly.  He leans forward, on his hands and knees, his leash tugging him back, and stares at Percy with some sort of manic glimmer on his face. “C-come on, Percy, c-come on!” He snaps his teeth a little, the leashes keeping him and Percy about a foot apart from each other. “C-come _on!_ ”

            Percy’s overcome by the smell of Rabbit.  Despite the pain and encouraged by Nico’s words, he lunges forward as much as the leash will prohibit and reaches for Nico, managing to grab onto him by the hair.  He pulls at him like it would do any good, like the leash wasn’t there.  He’s begun to drool.  He’s a wild animal.  He’s the lynx he was thinking of before.  Nico is the rabbit.  Primal urges of a predatory nature overthrow him.

            Nico moves quickly.  Quicker than he thought he could.  He grabs Percy’s forearm and tugs it free from his head.  Without even thinking, Nico bites him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what is wrong with me 
> 
> I'm thinking the finale will be up on Friday night. Woot woot. After that, I promise to try to post some fluffy stories, given I think it will wreck you and I think I owe you guys some sweet Percico where they aren't about to die 78% of the time.


	49. Panic!  At The CDC 2.0

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what a horrible title

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today was long and there's paint powder in my eye. 
> 
> SO FINALE.   
> It should be up on either Friday or Saturday. Idk which, yet, as I am yet to begin writing it. Probably Saturday, if I had to guess. If it's on Friday, I'll make a post to the "zombies angsty teenagers and new york city" tag on tumblr as a little alert thingy. Yay. 
> 
> This chapter is so next level  
> One could say I used the word "tummy" too much   
> But I like to live dangerously 
> 
> I listened to a lot of Demi Lovato in order to generate the last half of this chapter and I'm not sure what that means either

            Percy and Nico stare at each other a long moment.  Nico still has Percy’s wrist in his mouth, loosely clasped there by his wobbly jaw.  They watch each other’s eyes as they slowly return to their senses.

            Nico spits Percy out almost at the same time as Percy jolts away, his ankles _and_ wrist bleeding now.  Their words clash together.

            “What the _HELL?_ ”

            “I-I’m so sorry I oh my GOD I am so sorry I CANNOT BELIEVE—”

            “WHY WOULD YOU BITE ME??”

            “—YOU SMELLED REALLY GOOD I-I DON’T KNOW!”

            “ _NICO DI ANGELO **.**_ ”

            “I-I’m so sorry I don’t know what happened I—”

            “My arm is _bleeding??_ ”

            “I’M SORRY.”

            “Holy _shit_ , Neeks, what the _fu_ —”

            “You were about to bite me!”

            “Y-yeah, but—”

            “ _YOU AGREED YOU HAVE NO ARGUMENT._ ”

            “ _I DIDN’T BITE YOU._ ”

            “ _YOU WERE ABOUT TO_.”

            Bengele raises a brow.  She crosses her legs, leaning back in her chair and watching the live camera feed with fresh enthusiasm.  These boys are fun little things.

            “OKAY SURE, but that’s really not the point, what the _hell_ was that, why were you talking to me like that, Neeks, you were totally, like, _hijacking_ me, like what the hell—”

            “I-I was supposed to!”

            “ _OH WELL THAT DOES IMPROVE THINGS_.”

            Nico pauses a moment. “Percy, I think you need to calm down.  Calm.”

            Percy lays flat on his tummy instantly.  Then he blinks and glares up at Nico. “ _You just did it again you little SHIT_.” He doesn’t even think about it, he just lurches forward and tries to rip Nico’s head off.

            Nico flinches back against the wall.  But as soon as he catches Percy’s scent, the thick smell of human mingling with the salty intoxication of the ocean, he throws himself forward with so much strength he knocks the wind out of himself.

            And just like that, the boys are at each other again, trying their very hardest to absolutely destroy one another.  It takes brief contact for them to realize, again, what was going on.  They pushed back to their respective walls, watching each other with fear and worry.

            “A-are we…really doing this?” Percy asks after a long moment of painful silence.

            Nico nods a little. “Yeah, I-I think so.” The tang of Percy’s blood is still filling his mouth.  It’s the first thing from a living creature he’s tasted since he’d gotten infected.

            It’s incredible.

            Percy hugs his knees.  The coils of wire are biting into him badly now.  Nico wonders if they intended to remove his feet altogether.  He wonders if he played the part of trainer well. 

            Bengele’s voice over a bullhorn confirms that he did not. “Keep up the good work, di Angelo, and we’ll have something to barter with.”

            Nico squeezes his eyes shut.  His voice is sweet as slow-moving molasses again. “P-Percy.  W-walk.”

            Percy doesn’t possess the will-power to stop himself from rising to his feet and taking a pained step forward.  He yelps and falls to his knees, the barbed wire making him drop onto the filthy linoleum.

            Nico whimpers. “S-sorry.”

            Percy looks up at him.  Though his expression is fuzzy, Nico can make out the unbridled hurt on his face, the look of a man who clearly believes he’s been conned.  Percy’s shaking. “Why a-are you doing this?”

            Bengele, of course, had instructed him not to share his reasoning behind the whole procedure, as Percy might’ve acted to please her if it meant saving their tails. 

            Nico watches the ground.  Still dipping his voice in Splenda, he says, “I-I think you should calm down, Percy.”

            Percy feels like somebody’s given him a Valium.  He nods a little, the betrayed feeling washing away from him like dirt in a hot shower.  He picks at the spot where Nico marked him.  He wipes the blood away and is amazed to see he can make out right where the canines, the incisors, pierced his skin.  He thinks, absently, that it will scar.  It’s not until a few seconds later that he realizes that that isn’t really his main concern right now.  He’ll be lucky if it gets the chance to scar.

            Nico’s taken to fiddling with his collar.  He knows he really shouldn’t try to get out of it—his mind is clear enough and his stomach is empty enough to make that obvious.  But he wants to be close to Percy.  Just to be able to go to sleep against his chest and never officially wake up again.

            Well, wake up.  Just wake up a soulless husk Percy could easily do away with.

            Unfortunately, he doesn’t have the current strength or eye sight required to get himself free.  So he just lays flat on his tummy and outstretches his hand as far as it’ll go. “Percy?” His voice is soft now, devoid of his zombie-whispering magic, his breath coming out in little puffs against the cold floor.

            Percy glances up from his wrist.  The Rabbit smell is almost overpowering.  Nico’s hand is close enough to grab, if he were to try for it.  He can return the favor.  Maybe take out a little chunk of meat, even—

            Percy decides he should let Nico talk him down. “Y-yes, Neeks?” He tucks himself against the wall, digging the barbed wire into his ankle a little more.  He wants to remember the pain and not the prize.

            Nico swallows painfully. “C-could you hold my hand?  Please?” Nico watches the door. “Before th-they take you away again, please?”

            Percy frowns.  Getting that close…risking that contact…it could be disastrous. “You’re g-gonna have to convince me not to eat you if you want that, Neeks.”

            Nico smiles wanly.  He dips his voice back into the Splenda. “Percy, come here.  Just a little.  Hold my hand.  Please?  G-good boy.” He smirks a little.  Percy gives him a playfully exasperated look, sprawling out on his tum and holding onto Nico’s cold little hand with his feverishly hot one.

            Nico talks the aggression out of him. “It’s okay, P-Percy.  Stay calm.  Y-you’re okay.  I’m okay.  Don’t w-worry.  It’s all right.” As much as he’s thrilled to be in contact with Percy that doesn’t involve biting, he’s really not doing this to please himself.  He’s doing this because he knows Bitch in White’s watching from over his shoulder.  He knows she’s gauging all of this.  Gauging how well Percy can be placated.  How well he can control himself.

            Nico has Percy watching his eyes.  He doesn’t break eye contact for anything, even though the strain on his neck and the fresh waves of hunger the sight of Percy brings cause him pain in a way written words cannot adequately express.  He forces himself, using all the strength in his body, be it his own or that of the suppressants’ chemical support, to stay still.  To speak but not move.  To stare at what he wanted, but make no move to claim it.

            He will not give Bitch in White the satisfaction of biting Percy again.

            The two watch each other in almost-silence, the only thing breaking it Nico’s soft, cajoling voice and Percy’s broken wheezes.

            Nico finds himself trailing off the beaten path of the Undead Whisperer’s Speech.  He gives Percy a weak little smile. “You’ve g-got the dumbest look on your face right now, Percy.  Stay p-put.  Like you just ate four dozen pot brownies.  Don’t you _dare_ c-come any closer.  _Gosh_ , I want to kiss you so bad.  C-come any closer, you’re deader than dead, Jackson. 

            “Ya know, it’s weird.  I _see_ you e-eyeing my neck, Perce, and l-let me just say, do not even think about it.  It’s weird, though, I-I hate this situation a-and everything, wouldn’t wish it on my w-worst enemy, all that noise, but I-I wouldn’t wanna go through it with anybody else.  Percy, I swear if you bite me while I-I’m being sentimental, I-I will _destroy_ you.

            “Just, I g-guess, this isn’t s-something I want you to have to go through.  D-duh.  It’s just, l-like, I wouldn’t h-hold up so well with anybody else.  St-stop looking at me like that.”

            Percy smiles a little and nestles his head on the ground.  His fight is going quickly.  Even though Nico smells like a Christmas ham to him right now, he can’t get himself to even try to sample him.  He’s too tired.  Whether that’s from Nico’s voice or the suppressants wearing off, he can’t tell.  It doesn’t matter, though.  He just wants to get wrapped up in a blanket and curl up on a hammock and sleep while Nico talks sweetly to him some more.

            But they don’t get what they want, because when do they ever.

Moments later, the doors open.  Nico and Percy don’t even look away from each other.  They just watch each other, smiling tiredly as the guards enter the room.

They don’t look away as the leash is undone, as the bonds are put on wrists, as the words are exchanged above them.

            They only ever break contact when the guards lift Nico up and carry him out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *does a wicked backflip*


	50. Fin~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nico and Percy are reunited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might maybe post an alternate ending. Maybe. I'm not sure yet. 'Cos that requires like time which is 10/10 something I'm currently lacking. 
> 
> This is the longest update ever holy crap. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy it!

            Nico squirms. “W-wait…” His voice is all broken glass and rubbing alcohol. “Wh-what about Percy?” He shakes his shoulders, trying to get free of the guards. “Sh-she said…”

            Bengele meets them in the hall, looking indifferently past him.  A thin smile on her lips is the only indicator that she notices him, his struggle, his confusion.

            Nico trembles with anger.  He tries so hard, so, so, so, hard, to get free, to rip that bitch’s throat clean out of her neck, spit it out and go back for the eyes.  But he can’t, because no matter how powerful his urges, he cannot manage the necessary strength to tear away from the two monstrous guards flanking him.

            So he settles for irritated growling. “Y-you promised…y-you said that, i-if I did this, y-you’d help us…”

            Bengele strides alongside him.  Her smile grows enough to crack her porcelain exterior. “I said ‘potentially help’.  There’s still time to potentially help Mr. Jackson.  But that will come at a cost of its own.”

            Nico slouches against one of the guards. “Wh-what do you want?  Wh-what the _hell_ do you want?”

            Bengele gives him a look for the first time since she joined them. “You.  We want you to stay, to train us.  Show us how to control the diseased.  We will reward you with your own life as well as the Jackson boy’s.”

            Nico closes his eyes tight.

            “Of course,” she says, her eyes fixed forward sternly, a smug smirk on her face, “if you decline, I’m sure we could just glean the technique from the videos we have of you.  You know, the ones of you, ah, _charming_ your little friend.” She lifts a shoulder. “Whichever you prefer.”

            Nico just nods a little. “…F-fine.  Fine.  I’ll help you.  F-fine.”

            Bengele smiles. “What good choice, Mr. di Angelo.”

            “But.  But, b-before I do, promise me, _promise me_ , y-you’ll give him the first shot of cure.”

            Bengele nods. “Of course, of course.” She waves the matter off like it was resolved before he brought it up.  She smiles a practiced, plastic smile, the kind doctors are supposed to smile when discussing life-long medication with patients. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. di Angelo.” And just like that, she strides off, carrying herself with regality found only in predatory cats, corrupt political figures and Regina George from _Mean Girls_. 

            Truly remarkable.

            Nico watches her for as long as he can before the guards yank him into a dimly lit little room full of IVs and steel freezers and cooing incubators.  The room was barely big enough for the two massive men to fit into.  Much less the two massive men and a tiny, wiggling Nico, wedged between them who is already feeling the distinct, animal need to bite something. 

            There’s one other person in the room too, a tidy little man in a makeshift hazmat suit.  He regards Nico fearfully and nods at the table, his hands shaking beneath their heavy gloves.  The guards pick Nico up in a very indelicate, ungentlemanly manner and plop him on the table, securing straps to his wrists to make sure he doesn’t pull away and, like, rip somebody’s ear off or anything.  Nico’s wheezing at this point.  He can feel the suppressants wearing off quickly, draining his energy, his remaining life source.  He focuses on the tidy man standing over him, his mask reflecting Nico’s face right back at him.  He thinks idly, as he looks at his reflection, that his hair could really use a good washing. 

            The masked man jerks back a moment and returns with a hypodermic needle full of a light pink solution.  Nico watches blearily as the man gentles it into the barely-there vein at the crux of his elbow and slowly pushes down the plunger.  Nico blacks out at some point after that.

            When he wakes up, he’s swaddled in a blanket.  His head feels clear, his thoughts trains making their appropriate stops at connecting stations instead of just barreling off the tracks and into towns like they had been for the past two weeks. 

            He recognizes almost instantly that a few things are back to normal.  Like, for instance, he can feel his extremities again.  Of course, he isn’t like, super, totally, completely excited about that.  He totally doesn’t spend a solid five minutes just marveling at his newly revived fingers.  He definitely doesn’t play with his toes a little.       The next thing he notices us that he’s incredibly thirsty and incredibly hungry.

            But not hungry for Boyfriend.

            So that’s a plus.

            But, of course, the realization that he isn’t hungry for Boyfriend reminds him sharply that Boyfriend might be hungry for Boyfriend.  Which sends a shiver through him. 

            He stands, barely able to trust his legs with his weight even after three tries, and stumbles to the door.  He notices, with a little trill of momentary happiness, that he is no longer wearing a smock but, instead, fleecy sweatpants and a white cotton shirt that was about nine million sizes too big for him.  He’s a little peeved that somebody stripped him, but what’s one more person seeing his ass in the grand scheme of things? 

            Besides, he’s just glad that he’s not totally pantsless anymore.  The breeze was killing him.

            Nico stumbles into the hall to find two guards outside his door.  They regard him with a cool look of general distaste that’s painfully unconcealed by their Plexiglas masks before one of them barks, “What.”

            It is not a question.  It is a demand.  It is a demand of “what”.

            Nico unsticks his dry tongue from the top of his mouth and coughs out the word, “P-Percy?”

            The men exchange glances that are suddenly unreadable. “Dr. Bengele—”

            “Who?”

            “—will discuss that with you shortly,” one of the men says, keeping his eyes glued on anything but Nico. “Please adjourn to your room.”  

            Nico’s about 76% sure he just misused the word “adjourn”, but the sentiment is clear.  Figuring correctly that he really doesn’t have the strength to slam dunk these two, Nico shuffles dejectedly back into his room and takes a seat on his bed.  It takes another half an hour for breakfast to arrive, which Nico counts as pretty shoddy service, given he’d been waiting for it for about, eh, three days now.

            Nico descends upon the scrambled powdered eggs and freezer-burnt bacon with such a fury that his humanity was momentarily in question by those observing him.  It’s only when he lifts his head again and politely asks for a glass of water that they’re assured he’s not actually still part zombie.

            He sips at the water they bring him conservatively.  His stomach is doing somersaults from eating so quickly after being hungry for so long.  He just sort of watches the wall, waiting for Bengele to come in and give him the news on Percy.  Waiting to see if he should grovel at her feet or unabashedly rip her larynx out.

            There’s not really an in-between response, he doesn’t think.

            It takes her an hour to get around to dropping in.  By then, Nico has taken to pacing the length of his room, counting each step with great care, making himself walk in an organized rhythm.  It made the guards more uncomfortable that way.

            Bengele breezes in, looking down at him with a grin of satisfaction. “I see your procedure was a success.  Does everything feel all right?  You’re comfortable?”

            He ignores the poorly executed smalltalk and dives right into what’s bothering him. “P-Percy.  Percy’s okay.  Yes?”

            Bengele nods. “Your boy’s received the first shot, as requested.”

            Nico gives her a glare. “I don’t r-really believe you.  And y-you shouldn’t really expect me to.”

            She rolls her eyes like she would if a fly had buzzed by her ear one too many times.  She pulls a camcorder out of her coat pocket and opens it up for him.

            On-screen is Percy, thrashing weakly against restraints, his hair matted to his forehead. 

            A masked man shoves a syringe of light pink liquid into his arm.  He pushes down on the plunger until it has emptied out and gently removes the needle.

            Nico bites his lip a little.  Something seems off. “C-could I see him?”

            Bengele pockets the camcorder again.  Her face is blank. “I’m afraid not.  We’re running tests to see how he responds to your absence currently.  Once these have been completed, ah, we’ll see.” She gives him a final once-over and gracefully lifts a hand to adjust her bun. “Of course,” she adds, her voice frosty, “you shouldn’t expect to see him until you’ve begun, mm, _contributing_ around here.” She locks her hands at the small of her back. “Your first ‘students’ will be dropping by within the hour.” She pauses a moment before adding, “Results are expected, of course, or we’ll have to let you and your boy go indefinitely.” She flashes a “doctor knows best” smile and takes off to go wreck somebody else’s life.

            Nico flips her off.  It will not be the last time he does this.

 

            He decided the first day into this new job that it sucks some major swollen donkey testicles in the most negative possible connotation.  The ignorance in some of these people is unparalleled.  He’s honestly had to explain the simple action of curling your lips around the letter “O” properly the upwards of a dozen times in the past two hours.  He’s beyond hating this.  Hate is too weak a word to describe the gut-clenching rage he experiences with every “So, wait, I, uhmmm” he hears.

            And he has heard that quite a few today.

            He starts using synonyms for “hate” as his example words.  
            “Repeat after me.  _Loathe_.”

            “Loathe.”

            “Slower.”  
            “ _Loathe_.”

            “Better.  _Despise_.”

            “Desp…wait, like, what letter am I putting emphasis on?”

            Nico resists the urge to punch this piece of crap. “The damn _letters_ , Robinson.”

            “That’s not my name.”

            Nico doesn’t care, as he’s labeled this tool Robinson in his mind. “Robinson, say _odium._ ”

            Freakin’ Robinson starts to say the “O” wrong right off the bat.  Nico wishes he had a magazine to whap these guys with.  

“ _ODIUM_.”

            “O…”

            “ _That’s not how you’re supposed to say ‘O’ you piece of shit_.”

            He does this for three days, training and retraining people, keeping ghouls at bay and hoping, hoping with every meager figurative ounce of hope in him that one of the ghouls in circulation isn’t Percy. 

            He’s getting tired of waiting to see him, though.  He’s been a successful teacher for the whole time he’s been asked to teach, and yet he hasn’t even gotten an update about Percy.  He wants his smile back.  He wants that soft laugh back, the one that can make even the worst day a little better because, _damn_ , Percy’s happy.  And Percy being happy makes him happy.  No matter what.

            But instead of getting to see him, Nico just worries.  If he’s even alive, are they feeding him?  Are they keeping him hydrated?  Is he comfortable?  Is his fever being monitored?  What if they’re conducting some sort of horrific experiment on him?  What if, on the off chance that he survives it, he’s scarred and in need of comfort but nobody’s there to offer it?  What if something’s happening to him that Nico could’ve stopped?

            He has to bring himself back to the present before he gets sucked into a mire of anxiety.  He walks the halls of the organization brazenly, his chin up and his shoulders back.  Like a man in charge.  He blew off his “appointment” that afternoon in order to track Bengele down and give her a piece of his mind.  A piece riddled with expletives and demands he could only hope that would be met.

            Bengele is on her way somewhere when he snags her by the arm and glares defiantly at her, his whole little being burning with unbridled fury. “I want to see Percy.” He does his best to offer no way to deny him what he wants, but notices instantly that he’s left about a dozen avenues to do just that.

            Bengele takes one of them. “And I want to be able to control the dead.  But neither of us can achieve what we want without hard work and focus.” She shrugs free of him easily.

            Nico really hates the condescending tone she’s pulled on him.  Like, on top of everything else she’s done, she has to be patronizing?  Like, could you maybe not?

            He stands in her way. “I’m not training anybody else until I see him.”

            Bengele rolls her eyes. “We’ll just have those who have already learned teach others then, I suppose.  You can go back to being a patient, if you’d prefer.”

            Nico smiles. “Your people are dumb as shit, lady.  None of them have figured it out yet.  The most they can do is properly say words.  The whole ‘tone’ thing hasn’t even been touched on.”

            Bengele gives him a hard look that makes his skin crawl. “I wouldn’t push my luck if I were you, Mr. di Angelo.  You’re assuming your worth is so much higher than it is.” Her face is twisted down into something that Nico decides is a perfect show of sociopathy.  It’s a look of those without conscience, without empathy, with a dysfunctional brain, one that causes everything to become a mathematic equation, the answer always what’s best for her and her only, another way to create more power for herself out of other peoples’ pain.  Her eyes glimmer in a way that reflects no humanity, only cold intelligence and something akin to hunger.  If a great white shark were a human, it would be Bengele.

            She brushes Nico aside easily and says, “If you continue your work, you may be able to see him by the end of the week.” She looks him over like he was a snake behind glass. “If you cooperate.”

            She walks away with purpose, leaving Nico feeling dwarfed and somehow even angrier. 

            But he’s not done.

            He knows the guards here.  He knows some of them aren’t fond of Bengele.  He knows exactly who to ask this favor from.

            He finds Dennis at his usual post, outside the little room he was cured in.  Dennis is a big guy, like most of the guards, but he doesn’t don the riot gear like most of them do.  He’s perfectly content to not be terrifying 24/7.  Nico likes him for that.

            He puts his hands in his sweatpants pockets and walks up to Dennis, anxiety churning in the pit of his belly. “Uh, Dennis?” he says, keeping his voice down.  As many people as there are who despise Bengele, she does have her followers.  And they are not the kinds of people you want to disgruntle.

            Dennis gives him a smile and says, “Yeah, Nico?” He also likes that Dennis refers to him by his first name.  The whole “Mr. di Angelo” thing makes him feel like his father.  And that’s the exact opposite of what he wants to feel like.

            “Do you think, maybe, I could see Percy?” Nico doesn’t watch his face, but he can tell Dennis tenses up a little. “I’m just…really worried about him…please?”

            Dennis glances around and sighs softly.  His shoulders slump. “All…all right.” Nico doesn’t know how somebody with such a good heart could get roped into a situation like this, but he’s a little glad that this one did.  

He thanks Dennis profusely as they go, unsolicited excitement welling in his belly.  He’s at least going to be able to see Percy again.  He’s going to be able to tell stupid jokes with him and ask him how it feels to be on—what, day three of the cure?—and he’s going to be able to even touch him, feel his hair again, to see the perfect smile Percy gives him when he decides he’s being cute.  He’s going to be able to discuss escape plans with him in hushed voices.  This is the first step to getting back to the open air, back to freedom.

The excitement is almost too much to contain.

            Dennis stops at a door and heaves a soft sigh. “Are you sure, Nico?  He’s really not doing so great…”

            Nico expects this.  He felt like crap after the shot too. “I’m sure.” He bounces a little, trying to keep a massive, dorky smile off his face.

            Dennis frowns a little and unlocks the door, opening it to a little observation room.  Beyond a pane of Plexiglas sits Percy, his head bowed, black hair wild, swaying slightly even though he’s seated.  Nico frowns a little.  He must’ve been hit by a pretty bad dizzy spell.

            Nico’s about to try to get Percy’s attention when Dennis speaks up, shifting uncomfortably behind him. “Nico, we—”

            Percy’s head snaps up at the voice. 

            Nico’s heart drops.

            Percy’s eyes are completely glazed over.  His skin has taken on the signature translucency of the undead.  There’s a gash on his forehead, one that’s clearly fresh, but it isn’t bleeding.  His jaw is lax.  He sees Nico and releases a dry rattle.

            Percy’s dead.

            Nico’s too shocked to do anything.  He looks up at Dennis, trying his hardest to form words, only to see the man frown sympathetically.

            “Wh-when…?”

            “What?”

            Percy’s standing now, tugging at his leash, grabbing for the space closest to Nico.  He’s hissing and hungry and demanding.  Nico’s shaking hard.  His knees feel like they’re about to give out.

            “Wh-when did he…”

            Dennis catches on.  His sympathy increases tenfold. “They…I thought they already told you, Nico…he died right after they took you out of there.  Didn’t they tell—”

            Nico searches for words. “B-but, they, they gave him a shot, I-I saw that, they…”

            Dennis doesn’t need to say anything for Nico to realize that they could’ve given him anything.  It wouldn’t have mattered.  He was already at death’s door.

            “Could…” Nico closes his eyes softly.  He can feel tears, but he’s not going to let them out.  Percy lurches forward behind the glass. “Could I have a minute a-alone with him?”

            Dennis opens his mouth to protest, but eventually backs away.  He has no room to deny Nico this. 

            Again, Nico wonders how such a kindhearted man got pulled into all this.

            Dennis quietly excuses himself, leaving Nico alone with what was Percy and with a set of choices.  He’s torn, yes.  There are a lot of things he wants to do. 

He wants to shoot Bengele in the head. 

He wants to shoot himself in the head. 

He wants to shoot Percy in the head, to put him out of his misery.

            But he can’t do any of it.  He doesn’t have the strength to do any of it.

            Instead, he drags a chair over to the door and wedges it under the knob.  He knows what he’s going to do and it must not be disturbed.  Percy’s hisses and grunts fill the silence around him.  He realizes, absently, that he’s allowed the tears now.  Now that he’s alone.

            There’s a door that leads into the room Percy’s kept in.  Nico opens it without any trouble and steps in, hugging himself.  He stands a little out of Percy’s reach, not bothering to wipe his cheeks clean, his eyes locked onto Percy.  Or the thing that was Percy, the body of Percy that has sense released the essence of Percy.  The Percy Husk.

            Nico swallows, his breaths despondent little puffs that mingle with Percy’s hungry groans like some atonal composition.  He wipes at his nose absently and looks up at Percy to see he’s staring at him, still grumbling mindlessly, hands still outstretched.  But his face shows some sort of thought.  Like he’s trying to remember something with everything in him.  His hands twitch a little, inches away from Nico’s cheek.  Nico likes to think that he’s trying to caress him.  Just a soft, little caress.  A recognition.  But he has no proof of this.  Just hope.  

            Percy’s mind is jumbled.  It’s full of animal instincts now, the kind that demand sustenance, rejuvenation, reproduction.  But there’s a sparkle of humanity left.  It remembers the face before him.  He searches his few memories for a name, for anything connected to this sweet, broken little face.

            The room is silent for a full two seconds.  The boys stare at one another.

            Nico closes his eyes as he hears one thing.  The soft rattle of, “N-Neeks…”

            Nico chokes.  He can’t do this.  He surrenders himself, pushing forward just a few inches, into Percy’s waiting hands.

            Percy crushes him against him and, for a second, there’s no harm.  There’s nothing wrong.  Percy is indulging in a moment of clarity.  A moment of _this is MINE I need to keep it SAFE this is MINE_.  Nico’s listening desperately for a heartbeat he won’t hear.

            But Percy’s moment of clarity passes and, suddenly, the teeth that had in past so delicately skimmed over the fragile skin of Nico’s throat are less forgiving.  But Nico still loves it, doesn’t stop it.  Sublimity comes from both the gentleness and the harshness.  Only this sublimity will last forever.

            It hurts.  Oh, God, does it hurt.  Nico’s throat feels like it’s been shoved against a lawnmower.  But he doesn’t even care.  He just doesn’t care.

            Nico slumps his head against Percy’s shoulder, watching him as his vision dims, and smiles a little.  He can’t speak.  His voice has already been taken from him. 

Percy’s ravenous for him.

            Nico closes his eyes and pretends he’ll find Percy’s soul on the other side.  He drifts off on the thought, off into the world of breathlessness and blood loss.  He drifts off and he doesn’t wake up.  

            Not alive, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *curtsies* 
> 
> I hope you guys liked it :D And like don't regret spending like a month reading updates on this ^^; 
> 
> Feel free to send me ideas you want to see written and stuff over tumblr if you're feeling it because prompts are the cat's literal pajamas. Again, my url is just my username here. ^^; 
> 
> Most importantly, thank you all so much for your support and stuff as I've been writing this. Like, for real, you guys' comments and encouragements helped me a lot. Like, I can't express how thankful I am. I love you guys so much just <3 goSH 
> 
> ~<3 Bengele incarnate
> 
> EDIT:  
> I THINK IM GONNA DEFINITELY PUT UP A SECOND ENDING COS I FEEL REALLY BAD ABOUT THIS ONE THE SECOND ONE SHOULD BE UP TOMORROW EVENING SORRY


	51. Alternate Ending For You Lovely Whiners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Proof that I do love you, you frickin' WHINERS.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHINERS (jk i really wanted to write this) 
> 
> In which Bengele actually gives Percy the vaccine promised instead of being a lying little tit
> 
> Sorry it took me longer than expected to scrape this together; it's been a long, long few days
> 
> This ending is lame and I don't like it but whateves 
> 
> see but here's what you weren't thinking of with the legit ending
> 
> nico reanimates  
> which means  
> //zombie cuddles//  
> //undead boyfriends clumsily snuggling//  
> //it's not appealing but it's also not unappealing so there//

            It’s been about a week since they went in.  Annabeth sits back, waiting in the woods with the others.

            Locating the Hunters was a little difficult, but she managed it after about a day.  From then on, she sat back with them, forming plans to bust the boys out and tear down the CDC 2.0 all in one.

            They have a plan.  And today, they’ll execute it.

 

            Dennis opens the door and steps inside with Nico.  There, just beyond a Plexiglas pane, is Percy.  He’s swaying a little, his head down, his body shaking gently.  Nico feels his breath hitch in his throat a little. “P-Percy?” he says, doing his best to force projection into his voice.  Percy’s head twitches a little.

            “Percy?” he says again, louder.

            Percy looks up.  He pushes himself to his feet.  His skin is waxy, but his eyes are light and alive.  He smiles weakly. “H-hey, Neeks.”

            Nico wastes no time in jumping on that boy.  He darts into the observation room, shoving a chair out of the way as he goes, and absolutely _launches_ himself at Percy, scrambling to wrap his legs around his hips and cling on around his neck at the same time.  Percy releases a dry little chuckle, his hands coming up to support Nico’s back, his chin hooking on his shoulder.  He smiles a little, rubbing the boy’s bony back as Nico struggles for a hold on the thin fabric of his smock.

            “S-so you didn’t miss me at all, huh?” Percy says, mostly into Nico’s hair.

            Nico gently slaps a patch of bare skin on Percy’s back and buries his face against his neck. “I was so _worried_ about you.  You don’t have to be a _dick_.” His words say “don’t be a dick”, but the smile pressing against Percy’s neck says “be as big a dick as you want, you beautiful survivor you”.

            Percy leans against the wall, feeling weak, and hugs Nico as tightly as he can.  He’s aware of Dennis still standing in the outer observation room, watching them.  He’s ultra-aware of the semi-automatic rifle slung over his back.  Percy decides to keep an eye on him.  In a voice too quiet for Dennis to hear, Percy murmurs, “Are you all r-right?  Did they hurt y-you?”

            Nico decides that the lengthy training sessions don’t count as literal pain and shakes his head. “N-no, I’m all right…have they treated you…like…not horribly?” He lets his feet touch the ground now, because he’s pretty sure Percy would physically snap if he hung off him too much more.

            Percy shrugs noncommittally.  He puts his forehead against Nico’s and mutters, “Who’s that guy o-out there?” He gestures very vaguely toward the observation window where Dennis can be seen mulling about uncomfortably.

            Nico glances over his shoulder a little and says, “That’s Dennis.  He’s…he’s a good guy.”

            Percy gives Nico’s nose a kiss. “G-good enough to help us out?”

            Nico bites his lip a little. “Maybe.  Maybe.  But even so, he…it’d be three against, like, two hundred.”

            Percy sighs a little.  He nods as best he can.  Desperation has set its claws deep in him.  He squeezes his eyes shut.  He needs to get himself and Nico out of there.  They need to be able to be happy, to be free again.

            But even if they escaped, there’s the matter of his disease.  It’s still running rampant.  He needs the second bout of cure.  So even if he were strong enough to get Nico out, he’d still be doomed to die.

            Percy’s beginning to accept these realities again.  He’s accepted and refused them so many times in the past three days, but this time it feels permanent.  It feels like he’s settling into the hopelessness of his reality for real this time.  He closes his eyes.

            Suddenly, there’s a siren.  Nico and Percy jump in unison, the siren blaring from somewhere in the hallways outside of the rooms.  It sounds like a fire alarm, but neither of them can smell any smoke.  Nico clings to Percy as Dennis comes bustling in, his skin suddenly pale.

            He tries to tug Nico away from Percy, his words lost in the mechanical drone of the alarm.  Nico doesn’t go easily, however.  He clings to Percy’s shoulders, Percy clinging to his forearms, a zealous passion to stay together coming over the both of them the harder Dennis tries to separate them. 

            Dennis releases a little noise of irritation and says, “Ni—Mr. di Angelo, we need to _leave.  NOW_.”

            Nico just holds onto Percy tighter. “Why?” he demands, making his voice about as soft as steel wool.

            Dennis glances nervously over his shoulder. “That siren signals an invasion.  W-we need to progress to the upper levels and, and, a-and—” Dennis stumbles over his words like a first grader trying to read an instructional manual.

            Nico scrunches up his brow. “An invasion?  Like a zombie one, or—”

            His question is answered without Dennis even needing to say a word.  Thalia’s shriek of triumph from the hall is more than enough to assure him that this was not an invasion of the undead.

            Something in the hall just fell heavily.  There’s a chorus of victorious screams that are clearly coming from badass teenage girls.  Another heavy fall, followed by the whisper of dozens of boots passed the door.

            Nico and Percy pass glances.  They look at each other for a full half a second before Nico scrambles to get Percy’s collar off while Percy begins yelling, calling out to Thalia with everything he can muster.

            Dennis is ruffled. “What’re you do—”

            A girl throws open the door to find Nico clinging to Percy’s neck, Percy clawing at the air in front of him and, lastly, a massive, barrel-chested gentleman standing adjacent them looking as terrified and confused as a puppy during its first thunderstorm.

            The girl points at Percy and says, “You’re that Jackson boy, right?”

            Percy nods dumbly.

            The girl sighs, like she can’t even believe this is taking up any part of her day, and slides inside, brandishing a pair of bolt cutters. 

            Dennis makes a move to stop her, but she punches him in the dick and proceeds as planned.  As Dennis is writhing beside them, Percy’s eyeing the girl’s blot cutters warily, sub-consciously reaching to his neck. “I-I think there’s an easier way than those,” he says, suddenly fearing for his carotid artery. “L-like, maybe a key or something.”

            The girl knees him in the stomach, successfully bringing him to his knees.  Nico moves to stop her, but she brushes him away.  In a swift motion, she has the cutters poised to snip trough the collar, muttering, “Bolt cutters are the _international_ key” as she frees Percy in a very nontraditional way.

            Nico registers that she isn’t trying to hurt Percy a second after he’s free.  As soon as the wheels are turning, Nico recognizes that Dennis is still nursing his wounded kiwis and, hence, his gun is really unattended right now.

            And a gun means power.

            And power means persuasion.

            Nico acts quickly.  He grabs the barrel of the gun and tugs it over Dennis’s shoulder, pulling it onto his own.  He hurries an apology to Dennis as he helps Percy up and rushes out of the room with the Hunter.

            The halls are chaos.  The Hunters are still streaming in from a massive hole in the wall made by the front of their stolen armored car.  The staff is working their hardest to push the girls back but, frankly, they aren’t doing a splendid job.

            The Hunters are almost immovable when they set their minds to something.

            Nico knows where to go.  Well, kind of.  He kind of knows where to go.

            This whole thing is a little surreal to him.  There’s been a major role reversal.  He’s trying to process it, but it’s difficult.  Percy is usually the one doing the saving.  But here he is, pulling Percy along, the rifle held up high, ready to do away with anything that comes too close.  Percy’s leaning on _him_ for help standing.  He’s become Percy’s anchor.

            It’s weird.  It’s exhilarating.  It’s terrifying.

            Nico weaves through the chaos of the halls, pulling a wheezing Percy with him, and tries to remember exactly where to go.  He needs to get to the room with the cure.  He needs a technician to be there, one who could properly administer it to Percy.

            But in the swirling bedlam of guards and doctors and Hunters and the odd zombie, navigation is almost impossible.

            But “almost” is the operative word.  Nico skitters to a stop outside of the small room he was dragged into three days previous.  A zombie comes shambling toward them, its grubby fingers outstretched toward them, a groan of hunger dripping from its mouth.

            Nico sneers. “Shut the _hell_ up.” He lifts the gun and shoots that little shit right between the eyes (Nico will forever deny that the kick of the gun threw him totally off-balance, but Percy saw it happen and will attest to it until the day he dies). 

            The door takes a little wiggling to open, but eventually the two of them crash through and into the little room to find themselves face-to-face with one of the anxious technicians.  He stares at them, his hands shaking, eyes wide and watery.  The siren is still filling the air with tension that clearly is not helping this guy at all.

            Nico pulls Percy forward a little, adrenaline pounding through him, and says, “H-he needs the second shot for the Mor-6 virus.  Right now, h-he needs the second shot.”

            The man looks him over. “H-he can’t…he can’t have it until…a-a week after his first, a full w-week, I-I—”

            Nico jabs the gun at him. “ _Then get me some for later_.” It’s not a very dramatic line, but his delivery was spot-on.

            The man fumbles, asking a series of questions Percy has to answer before shoving over a capped, disposable little syringe with pink fluid.  The trembly man watches a Nico picks it up and carefully pockets it, keeping the gun trained on the man the whole time.  Percy’s slouched against the wall, a soft groan on his lips.  He’s beginning to not feel all too great.

            Nico grabs Percy’s wrist and pulls him out of the room, back into the tumultuous halls.  He needs to get them out of there.

            Percy’s swaying a little.  He’s starting to feel like he’s going to be sick.

            Nico loops his free arm around his waist and murmurs softly to him, shepherding him down the hall a little bit and, eventually, right to Annabeth.

            She looks exhausted and pissed off, but as soon as she sees them, her expression softens.  She taps their shoulders in a tired motion and says, “C’mon, you two.  Let’s get you out of here.  The car’s right…in the wall.”

 

            A week has passed since they pulled out of the CDC 2.0.  Nico sits in the back of the armored car, gazing at the peach-colored sky contently.  Percy comes around from the front, shouldering a backpack and looking back to his regular, healthy self.  Nico sings his praises to modern medicine.

Percy gives Nico a bright smile, walking up so he’s close enough to slide between Nico’s knees. “You ready?” he asks, his eyes shining in a way Nico had feared they never would again.

            Nico grins a little and gives him a kiss.  His lips taste like maple bacon.  Hell yeah, bacon lips.

            Nico knots his hair up in his hand a little before saying, softly, “Ready.” He pulls his own pack onto his back and slides off the back of the car, giving Percy a nervous smile before grabbing his hand. “Are _you_ ready?”

            Percy shrugs a little. “As ready as I’ll ever be.  I feel kinda bad that I’ve been looking forward to this.”

            Nico furrows his brow. “Why?  She’s a bitch.”

            “Well _yeah_.”

            Nico tugs at him impatiently. “C’mon, I don’t wanna miss anything.”

            Percy smiles a little. “All right, all right.” He allows Nico to tug him along, guiding him to the parking lot in front of the old Walmart.  Thalia’s waiting for them there, sitting atop a sun-worn Honda, her quiver slung over her shoulder, an excited expression on her face.

            “God, it’s about time.  We were about to go on without you two.” She hops down from her perch atop the car and pushes her scraggily black hair off her forehead. “The Hunters are getting antsy.  They’re so ready for this.”

            Nico raises his brows a little. “Trust me, we are too.” Percy gives his hand a squeeze that sprouts a grin onto Nico’s face.

            Thalia leads the two of them around to the side of the Walmart.  Bengele’s standing there, an impassive expression on her face, her hands tied behind her back.  She assesses the boys briefly before sneering a little and laying her head against the warm concrete of the side of the store.

            A few of the Hunters shift uneasily.

            Thalia deems herself Speech Giver and steps forward, a gun in hand just in case things got a little too out of hand and up-close for her bow to handle.

            “Josephine Bengele.” She speaks the word like it’s a curse word she revels in saying. “You’ve been a truly horrible woman, you know.  You’ve killed dozens of survivors and subjected sick people to cruel and unusual torture.  Frankly, you deserve something worse than this.”

            Bengele lifts a shoulder indifferently.

            Thalia flicks a little smile of irritation.  Behind her, the boys and the Hunters are preparing.  From the boys, bullets click into chambers.  From the Hunters, the bowstrings whisper into tautness.

            “I hope you’re prepared to die, sweetheart,” Thalia says.  She adds no emphasis to any of her words.  She doesn’t add sass or pizazz in order to make her statement sarcastic or quirky.  She speaks the words as they’re meant to be spoken; with seriousness and stoniness.  

            Bengele smiles.  It’s now that Percy notices the fresh bite marks speckling her arms and legs.  Her voice is as calm as always, despite the wounds. “With any luck, I won’t be gone long.”

            Nico glares at her.  He lifts his gun and shoots before he gets the OK.

            And nobody complains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna drown you guys in sentiment now 'cos I'm a total nerd like that. 
> 
> All right, get ready. 
> 
> At the start of this fic, I was incredibly unsure about my capabilities as a writer. Little writing deterrents such as my age, my inability to finish any original work, my preoccupation with other things and the fact that I couldn't really get anybody to read any of my writing all sort of clashed together over the course of a few days, during which I was, as the laymen say, "hella down in the metaphorical dumps". I was really hating everything I'd written, really hating that nobody was even vaguely interested in hearing about any of it and basically just really hating on myself a little because, damn, I'd told myself I was an OK writer for a while, but I wasn't even producing any "OK" content. I was basically just sorta believing that my writing capabilities existed to me and me only, with the exception of the patronizing family member who just kinda listened to it or read it because they didn't want me depressed. 
> 
> That was sad okay anyways
> 
> Like, honestly, when I sat down to begin writing this fic, I was feeling really despondent and whatnot and like on the cusp of scrapping this book I've been working on for about a year now. The fic was, frankly, a sort of distraction from my OCs and storylines and all that stuff that I just really didn't want to bother with. Like, at best I was expecting MAYBE 100 views on this thing. You guys completely blew me away, like every time I would check the "Hits" count, I'd do that excited wrist-flap thing and make a lot of really high-pitched sounds because holy CRAP people are reading this. 
> 
> This will be something I regret writing later on wow
> 
> BASICALLY BEFORE I EXPOSE MYSELF AS MORE OF A MEGA DORK THAN I ALREADY HAVE I just wanna say that like this whole experience has been really, really excellent for my self-esteem thanks to all you readers and commenters and general encouragers who really convinced me that I can actually write pretty well. Like, you guys really have no idea how much all of your encouragements mean to me and I'm really not good at expressing gratitude, so like, just, thank you all again, so much. 
> 
> So yeah, sorry, 'cos sentiment really isn't my gift (much like accepting compliments isn't, but c'est la vie), but I just really want to thank you all again because, dang, you all made my life like a lot happier this month and that just means a lot and thank you so much and and yeah


End file.
